His Excellency's Orders
by Commander Cody CC-2224
Summary: This is an EPIC story that features a glimpse of Benjamin Davidson's days in a special tasks branch unit, the Fifth Regiment, during the American War for Independence. This fanfic also features Felicity Merriman, now Davidson, family, friends, and children. Previously rated K-Plus, but has now been raised to T for Teen due to depictions of action violence in Ben's story.
1. Chapter 1

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

NOTE: A handful of new characters are introduced in this chapter. To gain a better understanding of who those characters are, I recommend reading the following prerequisite fanfiction works, listed in chronological order: _Young Benjamin, Duel For You, Ben Davidson_, _Benstown_, _Davidson_, _The Wedding of Felicity and Ben_.

* * *

**ACT I**

CHAPTER 1

Christmas Eve, 1793

Richmond, Virginia

The night before Christmas was a time for joyous celebration. Across the snow-laden city of Richmond, now its newest capital city in the former British colony of Virginia, the bright, warm glow of candlelight shined through the windows of nearly every house. It seemed that the spirit of Christmas was alive and well in the city.

But across a city street that lay at the east end of Richmond, facing directly to the James River was a three-story mansion whose Christmas gaiety remained aglow like never before. That three-story mansion was the home of the Duffman family, one of the most influential people of great wealth in the city of Richmond. And it was on the first floor level of the mansion, specifically in the dining room area, that the spirit of Christmas was at its most vibrant. The dining room was well-lit, as candlelight from across the chandelier in the center of the room distributed the glow of light evenly. Well-placed mirrors reflected the light, allowing nearly every part of the room to be illuminated. The dining room was festively decorated for the Christmas season, with its ornate decorations and holly and garlands. It was filled with an atmosphere of Christmas gaiety, laughter, and lively small talk.

All around the table were the members of Duffman family relations. Across one end of the room sat the owners, Lord and Lady Duffman. Then there were the Merriman family members, who mainly consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Merriman, who had now reached past the prime of their lives. Their eldest daughter, Felicity, now twenty-eight years of age, was already married to Mr. Merriman's former shop apprentice, Benjamin Davidson, who was six years older than his young wife. And that was just a decade ago. Ben Davidson was now involved in a business partnership with Mr. Merriman himself at Williamsburg's General Store. Felicity's younger siblings were three years younger than each other. Her younger sister, Nan, was already married to Nathaniel Duffman. The youngest sister of eighteen, Polly, was engaged to Edward Wentworth, the youngest and last son of Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth. Both of them were soon to be married during the spring of next year.

"…And did you hear how William decided to deed the plantation formerly owned by Master William Fellows?" asked Mrs. Wentworth.

"You mean the plantation formerly owned by Grandfather…now doubt?" Nan piped up. Baby Lou was tugging at her mother's ornate necklace to the point that her mother had to gently pry the decoration from Lou's little hand while Lou made a baby laugh of amusement. Usually children in their infancy would be placed in the nursery, but Lou was the type of child who always wanted to be with her mother all the time, so Nan decided to keep her at her side.

"Indeed," replied Mr. Wentworth.

Nan, however, was momentarily distracted by baby Lou, though she managed to hear Mr. Wentworth's brief answer. "Sorry," she said quietly.

"That may have been quite foolish of him to do such a thing," Mr. Wentworth put in.

"_May_ have been?" Mrs. Wentworth huffed. "My dear husband, I do think it was _exceedingly_ foolish of him to do so!" She swiftly turned on Mrs. Merriman, as if trying to blame her for letting her only son give away his inherited property. "Don't you think so, Martha? The lad will barely have any substantial property attached to his name!"

Mrs. Merriman simply kept her cool. "Well…I still think it may have been in his best interests to do so, considering that he hadn't expressed any particular interested with it…"

"…And so he gave it to Ben," Mrs. Merriman finished for his wife. And that was one reason why Mrs. Merriman could feel less anxious about her son's decision to hand over her father's plantation to her son-in-law.

This information was enough to alert Elizabeth. "But…why would he do that?" Elizabeth inquired. She was just as curious enough to find out why such a move was made.

"What do you mean, why?" huffed Mrs. Wentworth. "Haven't you heard the news?"

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Wentworth," replied Elizabeth, shaking her head. "I was visiting my sister in England, and…I hadn't heard of what happened to the plantation till last week."

Formerly Elizabeth Cole, she was married to Phillip Michaels, a handsome English gentleman. Seated besides Elizabeth were her parents, John and Catherine Cole. The Michaels family resided in Richmond, about three blocks from where Duffman Manor was situated. Elizabeth also had an older sister, Annabelle, who was already married to a handsome officer in the British army, Lord Harry Andrews.

"If there were to be any news from the former Colonies, it may have been lost on the way," Phillip put in. "Or…it might have arrived on Lord Harry Andrew's doorstep by the time we had left," he finished, starting to find it humorous over the thought of a letter arriving almost immediately after leaving England.

"The latter would be the most likely of situations, since the _Shepherdess_ also carries the mail to England," mentioned Mr. Cole in a casual manner.

Mr. Merriman cleared his throat while turning to Elizabeth. "To answer your question, Mrs. Michaels, William's willingness to hand over Master Fellows' plantation to my son-in-law had a lot to do with the fact that his surveyor occupation prohibits him from being able to make the most of the plantation."

That would explain why the only individual who was sorely missed by the Merrimans was their only son William. Now in his early twenties, William was currently involved in his occupation as a surveyor at work in the Appalachian Mountains east of the Ohio River. Since the Land Ordinance of 1787, former inhabitants of the Britain's former colonies were seeking settlement in the lush valleys of Ohio, and William was assigned with a team of other surveyors to reconnoiter and fairly apportion the land itself to various settlers and prospective investors. Surveying was tough and hazardous work because the terrain, as well as the weather and other natural forces, could be treacherous at times, not to mention that there were Indian bands to contend with.

Because of William's occupation in eastern Ohio, the distance was very prohibitive for him when it came to coming home for Christmas on time. However, his last letter indicated that he had made travel arrangements during the past couple of weeks, and he was hopeful in being able to come home on time for Christmas Day, if not for Christmas Eve.

Next were Felicity and Ben Davidson. Since they and their children had just made a two-day journey from Williamsburg to Richmond, it seems only fitting and charitable that they be allowed to spend the night at the Duffman's house. That being the case, the Davidson family celebrated Christmas Eve at the spacious and elegant home of the Duffman family, along with their relatives and acquaintances. This was one of those moments when family members related to each other could gather together and celebrate Christmas Eve.

Ben Davidson was a young veteran of the War for Independence, which was concluded nearly a decade ago, which he participated in active service while in his early twenties. During the War for Independence he served in the Fifth Regiment, a special assignments branch in General Washington's Continental Army, eventually reaching the rank of sergeant and leading a squad on various missions that brought Washington's Army closer to victory. Now in his late twenties, he fulfilled his promise as an apprentice to his young wife's father Mr. Merriman, and eventually became involved in a business partnership with him at the Merriman General Store. This move was beneficial for his young wife because it allowed her to remain close with her family members.

However, Ben could still be his same old self; and his old self was the same youth he was when he first arrived at the Merrimans' doorstep. However, after the war, he started maturing a little more; he was not as totally reserved in personality as he was, but he still could occasionally join a conversation. And sometimes he could still be out of place when placed back in civilized society. Ben's father had died in a Cherokee Indian raid at a Roanoke settlement and his only sister died from consumption. That left him with just his mother, who was still alive. But the death of his father and sister made quite an impact on his life, which probably led as one of the factors to his reserved personality. Not to mention that he had lost a comrade in arms who was dear to him, Matthew Brady, whom he served with in the Fifth Regiment for quite a very long time during the war.

So it was out of nervousness, over hearing some embarrassing moments recited by Mrs. Wentworth, that Ben nearly started choking on a chicken leg bone. Obviously the sound of Ben's choking was enough to alarm Felicity.

"Ben? What is it?" Felicity started questioning him rather urgently.

Ben was struggling to speak, even with food in his mouth. "I…think…there's…something…in my throat…"

"Spit it out!" cried Felicity.

Immediately grabbing his serviette, he turned his back to the dining table and spat out whatever vittles were in his mouth. He then sat back on his chair, taking deep breaths.

"Ben…are you all right, dear?" asked Mrs. Merriman.

Ben only conveyed a nervous nod. "I'm…I'm all right…Mrs. Merriman," he answered hoarsely.

"It was a chicken bone, am I right, Master Davidson?" inquired Mrs. Wentworth.

"Aye, madam," answered Ben, his voice still hoarse. "I was on the verge of…having one lodged in my throat," he finished, pointing his right finger at his throat.

"Well, consider yourself lucky, Master Davidson!" Mrs. Wentworth declared in a rather self-righteous manner. "This reminds me, though…I recently heard of a young lad close his age who literally died with a bone in his throat. It was…utterly horrific…he could barely breathe."

There were some gasps of shock across the room. Even though Mrs. Wentworth's mention of a young man's death by choking was relevant to Ben's current predicament, almost no one was in the mood for the same tragic news. But Ben simply conveyed a silent nod in response. Typically Mrs. Wentworth dominated the conversation much of the time; and when she did, she could sometimes be quite cavalier about it, as indicated by her tendency to point out the faults of other people. But even with that tendency, she could still sensitively discern when it would be the right moment for others to put up with her opinions and when it was not a good time to do so.

"So…where were we?" Mrs. Wentworth continued. "As I was saying…so far…"


	2. Chapter 2

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 2

The upstairs nursery room of the second floor was aglow with candlelight hanging from the chandeliers. It was in this place that the children of the downstairs guests made marry to their hearts' content. They had just finished dinner in the downstairs kitchen and were given permission to enjoy themselves in the nursery room.

"What is it with Georgie today?" inquired Thomas Davidson.

Anne Michaels was busy observing her four-year-old brother George grasping his hands in the air, right in the direction of where _Gulliver's Travels_ was placed. "Um…" she began, glancing at Tom. "He wants to look at _Gulliver's Travels_, I think."

Tom's younger sister, Mercy, twice below his age, looked up from the dolly tea set she was playing with. Her five-year-old sister, Abigail, and Anne's younger sister, Charlotte, who was the same age as Mercy, also found themselves perturbed by the commotion little George was making.

"But that's Mother's copy!" she cried in protest. "He'll tear it apart!"

Tom simply shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what else to do with him," he answered wryly.

"I'll watch him," Anne offered.

Tom felt relieved inside him, knowing that Anne was willing to take on the responsibility of watching little George. At this point he just did not feel up to the task of keeping an eye on him. Most of the time little George was in the company of Anne, and George seemed to be more accustomed to responding to Anne's callings when it came to being in the company of other children.

"Thanks…Anne," he complimented quietly. Anne immediately headed off to the direction of where George was, while Tom left for the master bedroom with the _Gulliver's Travels_ book, which happened to be adjacent to the nursery room.

After seating himself at the front side of the bed, Tom took _Gulliver's Travels_ to resume the second chapter. Very soon his youngest brother, William, two years of age, was clamoring for the book as well.

"Want…book!" he cried, trying to reach it. "Book!"

"William, you'll get it eventually," said Tom in exasperation. "There are alphabet cards that Mother stacked in the travel trunk. Ask Mercy or Abigail to help you get them instead." With a scowl William stomped out of the bedroom and into the nursery room.

The commotion the other children were making in the nursery room was becoming prohibitive for him to do some quiet reading. At this point he thought of handing _Gulliver's Travels_ to little William, but seeing that the was already engaged with the alphabet cards, thanks to Mercy's assistance, handing over the book to his youngest brother was already a moot point for him. Perhaps next time William asked for the book he would generously let him have a look at it. Feeling that he could never get some silent reading done at all, he laid the book near the edge of the bed and pulled out a small box containing a deck of cards, with the intention of playing cribbage, a card game which entailed shuffling and grouping cards in certain ways to gain points. At present, there was no cribbage box to keep track of scores, but Tom usually worked around this inconvenience by using clothes buttons for score-keeping.

He poured out the contents on the floor and started positioning them in their appropriate places, while at the same time observing what the other children were doing in the other room from the front double doorway. Watching the other children at their play was beginning to make him internally long to be a part of it. His two sisters, Mercy and Abigail, were really a contrast to each other, both in looks and in personality. Mercy possessed wavy brown-reddish hair and her father's brown eyes, while Abigail possessed most of her mother's traits, which among other things included most wavy red hair and emerald eyes that had a slightly darker green hue. Mercy possessed a personality that was modest, while Abigail was a little more outgoing.

But increasing Tom's self-absorption was the fact that it seemed that his friend Anne was busy with George. Both he and Anne were childhood friends of the same age, since they were very little, much to the amusement and delight of their own parents. Thinking that Anne would not be coming to him, and finding himself too old to join the others, he looked down began playing his own solitary game with his deck of cards.

Although Anne possessed a personality that was demure, she also carried with her a radiance that reflected her wavy golden blond hair and her mother's blue eyes. That being the case, it could be said that she almost resembled her mother in these things. That trait seemed to rest with her younger sister Charlotte, whom she would affectionately call "Lottie". Her demure personality, however, would usually lessen when she was around children close her age with whom she knew very well through talk and play. In slight contrast to Anne, Charlotte possessed curly hair that reflected the color of dark blond, as well as her father's brown eyes. More so than with Anne, Charlotte seemed to have the tendency to become quite shy when it came to guests, as Charlotte seemed to have more of her mother's traits than Anne seemed to have.

But almost unbeknownst to him, Anne was starting to observe Tom, and it occurred to her that he was feeling quite lonely right now. So she turned to her younger sister.

"Um…Lottie, will you look after little George here?" she asked her sister.

"Why?" protested a pouting Charlotte. "Why are you always making me watch Georgie?

Anne had a marvelous idea that she knew would keep her younger siblings busy while she entertained Tom. "You can unpack the wooden toys from the trunk," she said. "Just…try to keep him busy as long as you can."

Charlotte only heaved a sigh. "Aye, Annie," she answered before turning to little George. "Come on, Georgie," she beckoned to her brother. Charlotte took up little George by the arms and walked him, in a rather awkward manner, to the travel trunk at the corner of the nursery.

Anne heaved herself up from the floor and smoothed her gown before heading to the master bedroom. "Thomas?" she called.

Tom looked up from his solitary card game. "Anne?" he asked, looking quite puzzled. "What are you doing here?"

"Just out of curiosity," Anne started, "What's this you're playing?"

Tom looked at the neatly positioned cards. "Cribbage," he responded.

"Can you show me how to play that game?" Anne inquired.

Tom faced Anne, bearing a mischievous grin. "How about I show you instead how to gamble?" he teased.

Anne only shook her head in reply. "Mama always told me never to learn such a thing," she answered him rather reservedly. Her mother was quite sensitive about this type of game, since it often involved something of value being taken away from the one who lost the game.

Out of courtesy, Tom waited for Anne to be seated beside him. Anne decided to take this subtle offer as she seated herself beside Tom at his left. She smoothed her satin-colored gown and adjusted her mobcap.

"So…why does your mother not like you learning how to gamble?" Anne inquired him.

"Um…Mother thinks it's addictive," said Anne. "And…I can't blame her. When we were visiting Aunt Annabelle in England, Auntie told us stories of the Queen of France being addicted gambling." Out of curiosity she picked up a Queen card. "Aunt Annabelle always said that gambling was one of those things that led to her downfall…and that of the King of France as well. But…that was a long time ago."

Anne's naïve mindset could only interpret so much, as this was her rudimentary interpretation of what happened to the Queen of France. As for gambling, there didn't seem to be anything intrinsically wrong with it, but at this point it seemed that Anne's mother wanted to discourage her from engaging in activities that would eventually lead to the harm that gambling would entail, such as the addiction to gambling for high stakes, and an invitation of going even deeper into unnecessary debt, even if gambling wasn't done for those purposes and purely for the pleasure of play.

Little William in the meantime started knocking into Mercy and Abigail's dolly tea set, which caused quite an uproar. Fed up with William's annoying prank, both girls immediately ganged up on their baby brother and whacked him hard on his back so much that he began to bawl loudly. Tom and Anne immediately looked to the nursery room to see what was going on.

"Mercy? Abigail?" Anne called to the girls rather anxiously. "What's going on?"

"William knocked into our dolly set…on purpose," answered Mercy, who was both angry and upset at the same time.

"And he deserved what we gave him!" declared Abigail pointedly.

Tom simply shrugged his shoulders wryly. "They do have a point," he agreed. "Besides…" he continued with another mischievous grin, "That's justice."

"They could have _killed_ him!" Anne cried in protest.

"You exaggerate, Anne," said Mercy. "We know little William well enough. We know what he can take."

"Besides, we didn't do it too hard," Abigail put in.

To nearly everyone's surprise, little William ceased bawling. He did succeed in gaining the other children's attention, but failed to elicit their heartfelt sympathy for his self-inflicted plight, save for Anne's. He got up and wandered around the nursery room, looking for more things to do before settling for the toy box.

"Mayhap we should find a way to make the dollies feel more at home," said a disappointed Mercy.

The two sisters started searching the Davidson family's travel trunk for anything that could make a significant addition to their dolly tea set. Of the handful of belongings that the trunk contained, Mercy and Abigail brought out a small baby blanket, and two other items belonging to their mother. The first item was a small finished sampler of the red cardinal made by their mother and finished by their Aunt Nan when they were young. The second item was a fashion doll wearing a miniaturized version of the beautiful blue silk gown that their mother wore when she danced at the Governor's Palace nineteen years ago.

"Hey, girls," called Tom. "You do realize these are Mother's personal belongings."

Both Mercy and Abigail looked at the belongings they were carrying in their hands. They were reminded of the sentimental value that the sampler and the fashion doll carried. They were pieces of their mother's childhood that had stood the test of time during the war.

"We'll be careful with them," Abigail answered her eldest brother considerately. She and Mercy headed back to the nursery room with the blanket and their mother's belongings to reestablish their dolly tea set.

"They'll be careful," Anne reassured Tom with a smile. "They'll surely be in big trouble if they don't." Anne had looked at and touched those belongings long ago, and after Tom had told her the story of their origins, Anne marveled over how those belongings remained intact and came to appreciate their sentimental value not just to Tom's mother but to the entire Merriman family.

"Well, hopefully William won't knock into them," Tom hoped.

"I'm sure that after the beating he got from Mercy and Abigail, he'll be _greatly_ discouraged from doing that again," Anne remarked in a rather humorous manner. But knowing William, Tom simply laughed humorously as well.

"He'll probably do it again," he said. And Anne simply made a wry smile.

As Tom began glancing at the cards scattered on the floor. However, his mind became very much curious on the matter regarding the French King and Queen; a matter which was brought up by Anne but never had the chance to be explored further thanks to little William's prank on Mercy and Abigail.

"You mentioned something…about the King and Queen of France," said Tom.

"I…recall I did," replied Anne.

"I just never heard about the King and Queen of France that much, except that they helped us win the war."

"Well…not much," said Anne. "Except to say she dresses in _elaborate_ styles.

"Did she dress up like Mother?" Tom inquired Anne, thinking it was time for some sort of joke.

"Your mother's far too _modest_, Tom," Anne answered him, shaking her head a little playfully. "The queen of France, on the other hand, is said to wear the finest, most…"

"…Ridiculous…" Tom finished for her.

Anne started giggling quietly to herself, in response to Tom's one-worded description that would have summed up the height of fashion in France. "Aye; right!" she cried.

"But my mother likes fine clothes, too," Tom had to point out, remembering the blue gown that this mother wore at the Governor's Palace. It took a while for Anne to settle herself after so much laughter.

"But the Queen of France is said to spend so much on finery," Anne informed. "So much more…than your mother could ever dream of having."

"Did you get to see her?" asked Tom.

"No," Anne answered. "Not really. What much I learned about her…I learned from Aunt Annabelle, who happened to be friends with a noblewoman who happened to be from France. Of course…Auntie told me that she came to England to escape being…executed."

"Why?" asked Tom.

"I guess the French…"

"You mean the Frogs…" Tom interrupted.

"Tom, stop that!" she scolded him with a scowl. "That's not nice!"

Tom simply gestured for Anne to move on with her topic.

"The French didn't like…them," Anne continued. "They thought they were too selfish and uncaring…and too oppressive to them…so they rose up against them."

"So what happed to her?"

"She was executed…along with the King of France."

"Executed…how?" Tom had to inquire further.

"Beheading," answered Anne pointedly.

Mr. Jefferson says that's a _good_ thing," Tom pointed out with some pride. "The common folk are now free of the _tyrannies_ of the monarchs."

"_No_, Tom, it isn't," Anne retorted with a sad shake of her head. "Aunt Annabelle says it's the most horrendous thing that ever happened to her. She did nothing wrong…and had no part in the events leading up to her end. Auntie said they weren't bad rulers either."

"Who weren't?" called Mercy, finding herself curious about what both Anne and Tom were talking about.

"Tom and I were just talking about the King and Queen of France," Anne replied.

"What about them?" Abigail chirped.

"Um…it's a long story."

"Can't you tell is?" pleaded Mercy. "Please?"

Anne only sighed. "Very well," she answered. "Let's all head to the nursery." She turned around, calling, "Charlotte? George?"

"Coming, Annie!" Charlotte answered loudly. She was dragging little George with her to the nursery room. When everyone was settled, Anne beckoned them to sit on the floor before telling the story of the last moments of the King and Queen of France.

* * *

A/N (1): I'm going to divulge the possibility that the children of Elizabeth and Phillip were named after former and current English kings and queens. Anne may have been named after...Queen Anne, and Charlotte and George may have been named after King George the Third and his lovely wife Queen Charlotte.

A/N (2): Personally, I am unfamiliar with how cribbage works, as I have not played it; but I did scan through a Wikipedia summary on the basics of cribbage. It's a card game that involves scoring points for arranging cards in certain ways. Go to Wikipedia and type "Cribbage" in the search-box.

A/N (3): The fashion doll wearing the miniature version of the blue gown that Tom Davidson's mother wore at the Governor's Palace was featured in _Felicity's Surprise_, the third book of the "Felicity: An American Girl" series. I'm going to let you guess who was wearing that gown. Also, the sampler bearing the red cardinal bird, which so happens to be Virginia's state bird, was featured in _Felicity Learns a Lesson_.

A/N (4): Anne Michael's mention of the fate of the King and Queen of France, Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette (formerly Maria Antonia of Austria) may seem to be simplistic to the modern reader. That's because much of what Anne learned of the French King and Queen is based on what she heard from one of her Aunt Annabelle's friends from France, and from her aunt herself. It is of interest to note, also, that Tom Davidson's view and attitude to the French monarchs regarding their beheading seem to be quite similar to the views hailed by most Americans in the 1790s, especially by Thomas Jefferson. That may have been because Thomas Jefferson and other Americans of his era had the tendency to view most European monarchies as just another form of tyranny, given that America had just rebelled against one during the American War for Independence. Bear in mind that since the execution of these French monarchs was very recent, people would tend to make hasty generalizations about the reasons behind their executions. It took us a very long time to learn those reasons in depth; a couple of centuries, in fact.

* * *

These two chapters are the first of many to come for this fanfic. This fanfic intends to feature a glimpse of Benjamin Davidson's days in the Fifth Regiment during the American War for Independence. It may also feature romance with Felicity Merriman. You are currently reading Act I of this story, and three more chapters of the Act I section will arrive. This entire fanfic work will be a three-act arrangement. For readers who may find this work to be of significant interest, I recommend hitting the "Subscribe" button to be notified of the next chapter or chapters to come. You will also eventually learn in later chapters why this fanfic work is titled "His Excellency's Orders".

The current rating for this story is set to K+, which means that much of the content in this fanfic is deemed suitable for children nine and up. However, during the third act of this story, some content may guarantee the rating being raised to T for Teen. But that will be a long time before that happens.

Reviews and Commentaries are Welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 3

When supper was over the mothers and children of the Davidson, Michaels, and Duffman families assembled in the parlor room. The parlor was lit by both chandeliers and firelight and it provided a warm atmosphere.

In the meantime the men headed off to their own forms of amusement in the card room. Ben Davidson was very much looking forward to joining the other men in the card room, and it dawned on him that he hadn't even bothered to bring his deck of cards before leaving with his family for Richmond. His hope was that there would still be room for him to join in at least one of the card games, particularly his favorite, which happened to be some form of gambling. It was a he acquired during his days in the Fifth Regiment. But because one was going on, he would have to wait his turn.

But if he was waiting to join in, he was in for the unexpected. At a glance he spied Felicity approaching the room. He foresaw the possibility that his wife wouldn't be heading to where he was unless she wanted to talk with him. Usually women didn't head to the card rooms unless they were summoned, and in most cases, they simply stayed outside of the room itself.

And it was at this point Felicity was summoning a well-dressed dark-skinned servant, who happened to be present in the card room.

"You summoned me, madam?" the servant asked Felicity politely in a booming voice.

Felicity was quite startled at the servant's voice, but she managed to settle herself. "Um…aye," she answered him. "I need a word with my husband. Ben Davidson," she said, pointing to Ben, who was busy observing a card game.

The servant glanced at Ben before turning to Felicity. "He's busy observing a game, madam."

Felicity formed a smile in her face that seemed to indicate a form of playful flirting. "Well, surely if he is made aware of the fact that his Lissie is calling him, surely he will not refuse."

The servant only gave a wry smile. "Well, I'll defer to you, madam, since you know your husband better than I," he replied. "Very well. I'll call him."

The servant promptly made his approach to Ben and started whispering in his ear. Felicity observed the exchange from a distance, and she wondered how Ben would react to her interrupting his time in the card room. Whenever Felicity was in his presence, Ben could find himself drawn to her spell, but even then Felicity knew there were limits.

There were times when Felicity would vex him in certain household matters, especially some concerning matters of finance, responsibility issues where their children were involved, in which schooling was one of them, and with Ben, matters involving growing in confidence and virtue after all that he had been through during the war. And sometimes Ben, in turn, would get to a point where some of Felicity's childhood antics would get the better of him. But even in times like these, the practical solution entailed, among other things, listening carefully to each other, and resisting the urge to have things their own way when settling an argument. And there was, among other things, the nightly remedy of making sure they were always there for each other in bed.

With a nod, Ben proceeded to see what his wife wanted from him. His plans for joining a card game would have to be put on hold, it seemed, because he knew his wife was requesting something of him. But this was part of married life, and in his eleven years of marriage he could find himself getting accustomed to something like that. Putting aside one's wants to meet the needs of wife and children were aspects of marriage that a man could expect to occur.

"Lissie? What is it?" Ben asked.

Felicity proceeded with pouring out her request. "Ben…I wonder if you are up to telling your stories…about what you did during the war. I think the guests are curious about your gallant spirit.

It was at this point that Felicity started wondering whether what she is doing to Ben was really such a good idea. There were just some aspects about the war that Ben was involved that he could not feel like talking about to people other than his family, such as his involvement with questionable activities in the Fifth Regiment.

"Are you sure, Lissie?" asked Ben with a sigh. "Some of my war activities are things I would rather not talk about. In fact, they're mostly things I would rather keep in the family." His involvement in a failed heist for the governor's treasury to aid Washington's Army in the war effort was the first one to come to mind. Filching the governor's treasury usually carried pretty serious ethical issues, even if the governor's house was taken over by the British during the Siege of Charles Town.

He shook his head with uneasiness. "I…I honestly don't see why you would…"

Felicity immediately put her finger on Ben's mouth to calm him down. "Ben, I understand," she said quietly. Not that she really would have understood if she knew that this would be how Ben would react. But when it came to matters such as this, it was her presence and her way of touch that would soothe Ben's tormented interior.

"Do you…Lissie?" he asked his wife with some degree of trepidation. It was a rhetorical question, really; it was the only way to make certain that this was what his wife would want him to do without overreacting to her request.

"Ben, surely you, of all people, know the answer," answered Felicity. "You've known me for eleven years."

"Then…why are you asking me to tell my war stories to our guests?" he asked uneasily. "As I said, most of them…"

By the time Ben trailed off, Felicity decided to appeal to Ben's desire to pass on his wartime legacy to future generations. "Don't you want our children and our children's children to appreciate the sacrifices that you and your friends made during the war?" she asked.

"I would," said Ben. After all, he was lucky to survive the war; only a handful of his generation had survived with their wholeness of body and soul intact to tell the tale. But that was because Ben was not involved in the front lines.

"How else will you have them appreciate what you did during the war than by telling our future generation what you did?" asked Felicity.

Ben hung his head before facing her. "Lissie…you do realize that some things will be…difficult to talk about."

Felicity could put up with Ben's hesitancy to tell his war stories, but for her, it was getting to be a little too far. Ben's personal insecurity was nothing compared to what happened to the people who were killed or maimed during the war. "Ben, really," she said to him with a scowl, in way that told him that he should stop cowering behind the shadows of his past. "You of all people should be aware of the fact that compared to what _you_ went through, some of the men in Washington's Army could fare no better."

"I…well…Lissie, what do you expect me to tell them?" asked Ben, hand gesturing to her. "As a Fifth Regiment officer some of the activities I had engaged in during the war would be considered…well…unsavory at best…and…dishonorable at worst."

That told Felicity that it was Ben's honor that could be at stake if he mentioned some of the things he did during the war. "All right, Ben," she replied, acknowledging Ben's reasoning behind his hesitancy. "What are you saying?"

"Some officers…will no doubt want to withhold all the horrific side of the battles they fought in," Ben answered his wife. But…well, I've done things that most officers dare not do…for honor's sake."

Felicity had an idea. "But Ben…surely there _must_ be something you can tell them," she said to him. "Just pick one that's less…unsavory." She placed her hands on Ben's shoulders, trying to encourage him to come out of his shell. "You are not in General Washington's army anymore. And the war has already been over for as long as…" she sighed. "Oh, it's so difficult to remember…"

"Twelve years ago, I recall," Ben answered for her. "But even so…"

"Come on, Ben," Felicity beckoned him gently. "The Good Lord has brought you back to us…to me…safe and sound. How many of the men in Washington's Army can you say made it back home in the same fortunate state you are in right now?" She was already remembering the time when she prayed silently in the Bruton Parish Church for Ben's safe homecoming.


	4. Chapter 4

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 4

Early October, 1781

Williamsburg, Virginia

Sixteen-year-old Felicity was alone in the chapel of the Bruton Parish Church, seated at the right-hand edge of one of the very front pews. The interior of the chapel was a little chilly and its emptiness left a sort of ghostly presence. After what seemed to be a long while in prayerful meditation, she was crying alone in the pew in silence.

From the front of the chapel where she was facing could be heard the sound of steady footsteps. Then a single door leading to the sacristy was opened and a clean-shaven man in his late fifties in a black robe and white cravat emerged. It was Reverend Ullfers, the pastor of Bruton Parish.

Reverend Ullfers was the clergyman whom Felicity and her best friend Elizabeth sought their counsel concerning the matter of ghosts and ethereal beings because of an unsettling matter of a family ghost she thought had existed. That was three years ago; this time Felicity put it aside as something she would look back on when the subject of ghosts haunted her during her childhood.

The Reverend Ullfers was proceeding with his daily visit to the chapel when he began to take notice of Felicity in the pew. He began to investigate what was going on. So he proceeded closer to where Felicity was.

"Child, what is troubling you?" the Reverend inquired.

Felicity was very slow to answer. "I'm…I'm not sure, really," she answered quietly.

The Reverend began to study the situation. "Does it have to do with…ghosts?" he asked. He still could remember the time when Felicity and Elizabeth sought his counsel on this matter. But right now this was something else; something that she did not seem to trust the Reverend readily with.

"You were weeping in the pew in silence; and it prompted me to figure what was going on there," said the Reverend.

Felicity gave the question some thought, and Reverend Ullfers was ready to listen. Usually some of his parishioners would seek his counsel on matters of religion, some on settling their family matters the Christian way, some to settle their sad pasts. It wasn't unusual for people in such circumstances be reluctant in revealing their interior of their hearts readily. It was up to Reverend Ullfers to sensitively uncover the source of all Felicity's woes.

"It's…it's about Ben," she answered slowly through her tears.

"Ah, I see," said the Reverend. "Master Ben Davidson, is it."

"It's been a long time since Ben was gone. But when he arrived back to Williamsburg, I started taking a fancy to him. Now he has just left…and I'm not sure I'll ever see him again…alive…" she lamented. Seeing Ben come back home only for him to go back into battle starts to make her apprehensive and worried and sick.

Reverend Ullfers seated himself beside Felicity.

"Are you afraid of heartbreak, my child?"

"Aye…" Felicity answered with a tearful nod.

"You are afraid you may be reserving your affections for a young lad who might not return home from the war?"

Felicity sniffled through her nose. "Aye," she answered quietly again.

"You would be incapable of love if that were the case," said Reverend Ullfers.

"I am not incapable of loving someone I hold dear, Reverend," Felicity protested quietly. "I…" She became lost in her thoughts and was thus unable to finish whatever she would have said.

"You doubt that you can reserve your heart for someone you set your heart on," the Revered inferred.

Felicity thought on what the Reverend had suspected about her for a moment. "I guess that's it, Reverend."

While Felicity stared at the altar in silence, the Reverend gave the problem some thought. He was dealing with a young girl who was experiencing her initial moment of lovesickness; the type of feeling one experienced when developing a passion for someone else. Given the fact that this girl knew that someone else ever since the middle of her childhood and was his constant companion, it would be enough to make that longing for that someone else very strong. At the same time, too, that girl was conflicted with whether she would enter into a relationship with that someone else, for fear that he should be taken away from this world too soon. For Felicity, that harsh reality was pretty much not far off, considering that the war was still going on.

"Miss Merriman," he began, but not before clearing his throat. "I'm afraid relationships involve a certain amount of…risk involved in both parties. If you are unable to endure heartbreak, you would…you would end up depriving yourself the joy of being joined in unity to a man you love and care for. You would find yourself more and more…alone."

"But…I…I don't want to be alone," Felicity moaned. "That would be…horrendous."

"No one else does," the Reverend agreed. "But when we close off ourselves to the people who we love, we end up becoming…alone."

"I…I suppose we could just be…friends…" Felicity said.

"If you want, my child," said the Reverend.

"But I'm conflicted," Felicity said quickly before settling herself a bit. "Should I…or should I not?"

"That would depend, my child," said Reverend Ullfers. "Does Master Davidson seem to be the lad who can be dependable?"

"He has always been…dependable…" Felicity could recall.

"I seem to know Master Davidson…a little," the Reverend answered. "But surely you know him more than I. Why don't you list the qualities that you admire in him the most…and what he plans to do once his apprenticeship with your father is finished?"

Felicity choked back a sob before proceeding to follow Reverend Ullfer's question. "Since we knew each other since childhood, I suppose there's much to remember about him," she replied. Many memories of her and Ben were beginning to flood in her mind. Everything, from the time she first encountered him up to the day he left Williamsburg. "Ben Davidson…I dare say…is a dependable and kind young man. At least that's how I would remember him if he died on the battlefield."

"For a start, that isn't so bad," said the Reverend. "What else can you tell me about Master Davidson?"

"He…he was willing to keep all my secrets…and I was willing to keep his," said Felicity. "I snuck off to see Penny…you know, the horse I came to love…when she was mistreated by Mr. Nye, and Ben never breathed a word of what I did. Ben was on the verge of running off to join Washington's army before his apprenticeship was even up…I never breathed a word of what he was up to…but soon he had to turn himself in…" She broke off.

"Continue, my child," the Reverend prompted gently.

"Were it not for me…Ben would face a fate far worse than facing Father and telling him the truth," Felicity finished.

"What else did Master Davidson do for you?" the Reverend prompted again.

"He escorted me to the ball at the Governor's Palace," she answered. That was Felicity's most memorable moment.

"Very generous of him," the Reverend complimented about Ben. "I dare say, though, that the Governor's Palace isn't the same as it used to be, I'm afraid." Since the time when the war was inching closer to Virginia, the Governor's Palace was eventually converted into a makeshift hospital ward, and it was still operating as one.

"Ben never seemed to tire of keeping the store running while Father was doing frequent travels," said Felicity.

"So, all-in-all…how would you sum up…Master Davidson?" asked Reverend Ullfers.

"Dependable…kind…and dedicated to our cause for freedom from British rule…to the point of enlisting in Washington's army, I dare say," said Felicity. "And best of all…I can be myself around him." Aside from the fact that Ben could find himself charmed by some of Felicity's antics, the most important part about Ben that was of great comfort to her was the fact that Ben simply accepted her just as she was.

"Those are…remarkable qualities in him," said the Reverend. "How many young lads have those qualities?"

"Um…I'm not so sure…," Felicity found herself saying with great uncertainty.

"Not many, I dare to presume," said Reverend Ullfers. "And how many younger lands would let you be yourself around him?"

"All the reason why I'm afraid…Reverend," Felicity blurted out. "I'm afraid I may never find someone who is even half of what he is. You see…we had known each other since…since childhood…and…" She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

"He is unique to you," said the Reverend. "Maybe more than that."

"He is as I said he was to you, Reverend…dependable…and loving," said Felicity. "And I trust him. And…I find myself even drawn to him more…and more…

Reverend Ullfers was beginning to find himself a little amused over the seemingly dramatic lovesickness that Felicity was displaying, whether she could help it or not. "You, Miss Merriman…are in love," he concluded.

Felicity made a silent nod of her head. "Aye, I _am_ in love," she said. "And I want him back home…safe and sound. But…I suppose that is too much to ask…"

Reverend Ullfers sat back in the pew and put his hands together. "It is not such a bad thing to be in love, Miss Merriman," he agreed. "But…"

"What is it, Reverend?" asked Felicity.

"I'm afraid you may become too self-absorbed with worry for him, my child," the Reverend asserted.

"Am I being too selfish for wanting to keep Ben for myself?" asked Felicity in shock.

"I think you have a great longing that keeps the flame in your heart enkindling," said the Reverend. "But I fear it will make you despondent. My advice would be to keep him alive in memory, but continue being active in your life."

"I suppose you're right, Reverend," Felicity had to concur.

Reverend Ullfers rubbed his chin while deep in thought. "Perhaps digging a little deeper into his reasons for joining the army would uncover something…positive…about his character," the Reverend counseled. "Would you mind, child?"

"I suppose not, Reverend," answered Felicity.

"Now let me ask you…a rather personal question in nature," the Reverend began. "Did Master Davidson decide to head off to war…simply for his own amusement…or did he head off to war out of duty to his country…and his family?"

In reaction Felicity was very much shocked to hear Reverend Ullfers dare to suggest the former of Ben's possible reasons for joining Washington's Army.

"Just answer the question, child," Reverend Ullfers said to her gently and quietly.

Felicity took a deep breath. "Out of duty," she answered quietly.

"There. You see?" the Reverend said to her gently. "Now you would know that Ben would still have a longing for home and hearth…and _you_. But his duty calls him to withhold these things temporarily because he knows, above all others, that the freedom of this country is at great stake. He would know that he has much, _much_ more to lose than simply home and hearth." He took a deep breath before facing Felicity. "Don't give up on him too quickly, my child."

Felicity gave a silent nod as she struggled inside of her to come to some sort of agreement with the Reverend's insight, especially that concerning Ben himself.

"To take much of your focus off Ben, you should try to keep yourself occupied…as much as you can," the Reverend counseled Felicity.

"Aye, Reverend," Felicity answered with a nod of her head.

"You are a pretty young lass, child," said the Reverend. "Don't let yourself languish away with intense worry over him. Continue to beseech the Lord God for his safe return, but you must keep on moving through this finite life which the Lord has given us on this Earth."

Felicity looked up at Reverend Ullfers. "I shall," she answered him gratefully. "Thank you…Reverend…for your sound advice." Quietly she embraced the Reverend before letting go.

"Come back if you need my counsel," the Reverend finished as he got up from the pew.

Felicity nodded as Reverend Ullfers walked quietly off to the sacristy, leaving Felicity alone to continue meditating in silence in the church.

* * *

A/N: The mentioning of Felicity and Elizabeth seeking Reverend Ullfers' counsel on the matter of ghosts was derived from _Lady Margaret's Ghost_, written by Elizabeth McDavid Jones.

By the time I was in the middle of writing and refining this chapter, a new Christian film called _October Baby_ was released. One of those moments featuring a college-age girl named Hannah seeking counsel with a clergyman of the Roman Catholic Church brought to mind this chapter of my story. Of course, Hannah's matter was entirely different (not to mention much more tragic) than Felicity's (Hannah's life was close to being intentionally ended at birth by her birth mother). The priest comes across Hannah, figures out what is going on, and counsels her to find forgiveness. While that scene in the film was quite touching, my mind was reeling like this throughout the entire scene: "If I intend to write a scene where a girl seeks counsel with a clergyman, I could write a better scene that features a girl seeking counsel with a church clergyman …even if the discussion matter is entirely different." You can be the judge of my writing style of this chapter if you see the film featuring that moment with Hannah and the clergyman.


	5. Chapter 5

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 5

Felicity started finding herself transported back to reality. "I don't know…" she said, hanging her head. "Somehow I feel so ashamed for asking you to do this.

Almost at any point in his life did Ben found that it was pretty hard to refuse his Lissie. But on this matter she would not push him to do this task if she was reminded constantly about the possibility of making Ben uncomfortable, so it was pretty much up to Ben to carry on. Besides, how would he pass on the stories of his army career to the next generation of his family?

"I suppose I could," said Ben. "The Fifth Regiment's disbanded, anyway…and any records of our activities, as I recall, are allowed to be accessed by scholars. It's…not really open to the public, however."

It was not until the war came to a conclusion with the Treaty of Paris in 1783 that General Washington officially disbanded the Fifth Regiment. However, even though the war ended two years prior to the Treaty, Washington still employed the Fifth Regiment for "cleanup assignments" in the Southern theater of the Colonies. Typically those assignments usually involved covert reinforcement operations in assisting local militias on the rebel side; but after Yorktown, Ben and his former squad mates received honorable discharge and went back home to Williamsburg; with Ben, his reason for heading back to Williamsburg was to fulfill his contract with Mr. Merriman. It was not until a year after the war ended that Walter told him of a guerilla style assault by the Fifth Regiment to repel Captain Pratt's provincial regular army and its Indian allies besieging Fort Henry in 1782.

At the time when the Fifth Regiment was still active during the war years, official records of its members and their numbers were classified by the Continental Congress and the Commander-in-Chief, with whom the Regiment was at his disposal. As a result, no one knew exactly how many Fifth Regimenters were at large; not even their French allies had an idea as to their exact number. It was not until after Washington was sworn in as America's very first president in 1789 that he quietly allowed access to their records to scholars who were interested in studying and archiving the Colonies' history of its war with their mother country.

And so after contemplating the past history of the Fifth Regiment, and coming to the realization that his predicament as a former member of this special assignments branch in Washington's Army would not be as bad as he thought it would be, Ben decided to reconsider on his wife's plea.

"All right, Lissie," said Ben. "I'll pick something. You'll see."

Felicity made a warm smile at Ben as she proceeded to the parlor room, following after him. When they stepped into the parlor, it had an atmosphere of coziness. The fireplace was the main source of heat and light, accompanied by a series of already lit wax candles. Some mirrors were in place to reflect as much light as possible into the room. Bookshelves lined the left-hand side of the room relative to where the parlor entrance was located.

The family members and friends present in the parlor were Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth, Elizabeth, and Nan, as well as the Davidson and Michaels children. All eyes were on Ben; the atmosphere of excitement and anticipation to what stories Ben planned to tell gradually transformed into a mix of anxious wondering and then to slight edginess. Children were fidgeting in their seats and young mothers were whispering to one another, mostly on whether Ben himself would be up to the task of storytelling.

Nan looked up at her eldest sister, while Little Lou was busy playing with her mother's mother-of-pearl necklace. "Lissie," she began. "Are you sure Ben is up to it?" You know how he is…"

Lou tugged at the necklace so hard that it caused her mother to wince in pain. Nan took off the necklace and stowed it in the pocket of her gown.

As much as Felicity was just as concerned about the idea of Ben telling the stories of his army career; but Nan, being quite sensitive about not just herself, but for her friends and relatives, seemed to be more concerned as well.

"He'll be all right, Nan," said Felicity in an understanding manner.

"However did you manage to persuade him?" asked Elizabeth, who was holding little George in her arms.

"I told him he can choose which stories to tell," Felicity answered her best friend.

Ben started pacing around the room, making everyone wonder what on earth is up to now. Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth were whispering to each other about, possibly about Ben's state of mind. Nan was busy cuddling little Lou. The others were finding themselves restless and anxious at the same time for Ben to get over his thinking.

"Um…Lissie?" asked Elizabeth with concern.

"I don't know yet," said Felicity.

"What's Father doing?" asked Abigail.

"Hush!" cried Mercy, signaling her younger sister to be quiet. "He's thinking of something…"

After a while Ben searched for a pretty comfortable chair to sit on. He spotted an elegantly decorated wooden armchair situated at the left-hand side of the fireplace, which faced the guests. Finding the chair suitable to him, he grasped the armrests and quietly seated himself on the chair.

He clasped his hands together and shut his eyes tightly as he could for one minute. An uneasy state of trepidation hovered across his anxious mind as he struggled to find anything related to his career in the Fifth Regiment that he would have no problem telling to the children. Truth be told, there weren't that many stores that extolled virtue and valor in wartime; many of the activities Ben engaged in usually had issues of personal honor mixed in. But Ben had to think of something to tell the guests, and his family; and he had to think of something fast before their patience grew thin.

"Have you thought of something to tell the children?" asked Felicity.

"Um…Aye. It seems I have…" answered Ben.

**END OF ACT I**

* * *

This is the end of Act I of this fanfic work. Chapters for Act II will take a while in arriving. For readers who may find this work to be of significant interest, I recommend hitting the "Subscribe" button to be notified of the next chapter or chapters to come. You will also eventually learn in later chapters why this fanfic work is titled "His Excellency's Orders".

The current rating for this story is set to K+, which means that much of the content in this fanfic is deemed suitable for children nine and up. However, during the third act of this story, some content may guarantee the rating being raised to T for Teen. But that will be a long time before that happens.

Reviews and Commentaries are Welcome!


	6. Chapter 6

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

NOTE: This is the beginning of Act II of the story. The second act deals with a glimpse of Benjamin Davidson's career in the Fifth Regiment. A fair amount of research, on the basic leve, was done regarding the locations in Williamsburg. Due to the author's busy school schedule, the entire Act took quite a while to arrive on the FanFiction Website. We are currently working to bring about the arrival of the third and final act of this story, which will actually have something...exciting...for Ben and his Fifth Regiment Buddies to do. The last chapter of Act II will feature a farewell with our longtime favorite pairing in the American Girl series: Lissie and Ben.

Thanks to you readers out there for your immense patience. Happy Reading!

* * *

**ACT II**

CHAPTER 6

September 15, 1781

Williamsburg, Virginia

Sergeant Benjamin Davidson was observing the trainees of the Fifth Regiment. The weather was sunny, with some partial obscurity from the presence of clouds. The trainees stood at a grassy lawn at the south side of the Palace Green where the local militia seemed to always have their drills, and the lawn was used as a makeshift firing range.

Located at the west end of the Palace Green was a huge archery target made of compact hay, with a wooden front. The front itself had a large bulls-eye target painted generously in blood-red color. The Fifth Regiment trainees stood at the middle of the Palace Green, facing the target.

Present at the firing range was a gruff, loud-mouthed sergeant of Scottish origins, Sergeant Jonas MacKenzie. His long, wavy hair was tousled and unkempt, and it was said he had the personality of a pit bull whenever he was on drill duty. If he meant real business, his fierce, incendiary personality would usually intimidate younger people into doing whatever he told them just to cool down his wrath.

"At ease, boys!" yelled the Scottish sergeant.

The effect on the Fifth Regiment trainees was immediate. They relaxed themselves while standing, though they could not help but feel intimidated by the ferocity of Sergeant MacKenzie.

"Boys," he announced. "Today we will begin honing your loading and shooting skills with all three available firearms in our inventory: the Brown Bess, the pistol, and the Brown Bess rifle. Captain Howell has voiced his concerns over the apparent…_deterioration_…of your shooting and loading skills. He noticed that some of you have tendencies to tremble when firing, thus failing to keep a steady hand on your firearm and getting a twitchy trigger finger, not to mention a tendency of taking too long to load! Today is the day we rectify this problem, boys!"

Sergeant MacKenzie immediately turned on Ben. "Sergeant Davidson! Show those young pups what I'm talking about!"

Even Ben could find himself intimidated by the Scottish sergeant that he could find himself trembling. Struggling to keep his cool, he headed over to a nearby table laden with a simple assortment of flintlock firearms to choose from. Per the sergeant's request, Ben seized the Land Pattern musket and headed back to where the trainees stood. Being a little unsure of what was next, he awaited further orders from the sergeant himself.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Sergeant MacKenzie barked at Ben. "Entertain us with a proper demonstration of inept loading and firing!"

"Sir!" Ben responded instantly.

Maintaining a firm grip on his Land Pattern musket, he began loading it with ease, albeit in a lazy manner. The efficiency of the entire musket-loading process was made to look intentionally abominable. After loading the firearm, he fired a shot, while failing to keep a steady hand on the musket.

"Ya see what he did, boys?" he yelled. "He took too long to load, and failed to keep a steady hand on his firearm! And his missed his target! You boys have got to load a Brown Bess efficiently and aim at your target with deliberation…at a stable stance! A seasoned redcoat can fire up to three rounds a minute, even if his aim may be rather…questionable."

The sergeant began to take notice of one of the boys who raised his hand. "What?" he barked.

"Well, suh, our muskets can't even shoot a redcoat for more than thirty yards," the young man had to point out. "What good will our aiming skills do, suh?"

"I am aware that the musket is notorious for its accuracy, Private Bowles, but you, boy, are not a common infantryman," the sergeant berated the boy. "You are a Fifth Regimenter, and a Fifth Regimenter takes his aiming skills to the fullest potential!"

Ben saw that the Scottish sergeant had a point. As a specialized fighting force, soldiers in the Fifth Regiment had to be very adept with both forms of firearms.

"Sergeant Davidson!" barked Sergeant MacKenzie, facing Ben again. "Show those young pups how a Fifth Regimenter should take down a redcoat!"

Ben proceeded to load his musket as fast as he could. In quick movements, he opened the priming powder pan, bit the top of the cartridge, generously sprinkled the powder into the cartridge, and snapped the priming pan shut. Then he grabbed one bullet ball from his ammunition pack, pulled the ramrod from under the musket and used it to shove the bullet into the rear of the firearm before shoving the ramrod back under the musket itself. Finally he took aim with his musket at the target and squeezed out one shot. The bullet impacted almost near the blood-red bulls-eye of the circular target. For Ben, it was a close hit.

"Close enough!" the sergeant complimented Ben. "Let this be a lesson to you boys to learn how to _shoot_ better when you stand up against them arrogant Brits!" He then turned to Ben. "Sergeant, fetch the Brown Bess rifle," he commanded.

Ben made haste back to the same nearby table where the assortment of firearms was kept. Seizing what appeared to be a Brown Bess rifle he quickly examined the barrel's end and used his right hand index finger to feel his way around the barrel. He could feel rough cuts around the barrel, indicating that light grooves were cut into the barrel itself. Not only that, the barrel hole was slightly smaller than that of a musket, which would allow for more compaction and a more aerodynamically stable force for the bullet when it fired. However, the compactness would make it a little harder for muzzle-loading.

"Stop taking your sweet time and head back to the firing range!" shouted Sergeant MacKenzie.

"Aye, sir," Ben responded loudly. Grabbing hold of the rifle, he hurried back to where the Scottish sergeant and his trainees were standing.

"Now your next step is to learn how to efficiently load and fire a Brown Bess rifle!" He turned to Ben again. "Sergeant Davidson! Now that you have your fire-stick, start loading and firing!

In quick movements Ben performed the very same steps that were used to load the Brown Bess musket. However, the difference between those two firearms was the manner of loading the bullet into the rifle barrel. Ben had to give the bullet-shoving more effort, since, barrel-wise, it was quite tight. After shoving the ramrod under the rifle, Ben then aimed at his target quickly and pulled the trigger, firing a shot which impacted almost at the dead-center of the blood-red bulls-eye.

"You will begin to notice that loading a rifle is much tougher than loading a Brown Bess!" the sergeant informed. "That is because the bullet ball you shove through the barrel of a rifle is tougher to shove in because the ball itself is very tight-fitting. With the smooth bore, it's a mite easier, but your accuracy is decreased." He then turned to Ben. "Sergeant, fetch a pistol!"

Ben immediately hurried over to the nearby table and seized a pistol form an assortment of pistol firearms. After quick examination of making sure it was in fair working condition, he stuffed the pistol at his left side and hurried back to the firing range.

"We now will start training with pistols!" yelled the sergeant. "Now boys, I had recently received word that Captain Howell has lodged his complaints about some of you boys throwing aside your ramrods every time you load your pistols." He then turned to Ben again. "Sergeant Davidson! Load your pistol, but cast your ramrod aside after loading it!"

Like a proficient arms master, Ben started his pistol mechanically, but forgot to cast aside the ramrod. Being accustomed to firing pistols, the whole process seemed automatic to him, so it was a little difficult for him to deviate from the normal operation of pistol-loading.

"Sergeant, cast aside your ramrod," Sergeant MacKenzie reminded him bluntly. "I'm trying to make a point here."

Complying with the sergeant's orders, Ben threw the pistol ramrod aside.

"Ya see what he did, boys?" the Sergeant lectured to the trainees. "He cast aside his ramrod after loading his pistol! A highly trained soldier or officer in the ranks _never_ does that because it makes loading your pistol again…_impossible_!" Then Sergeant MacKenzie turned on Ben again for what seemed to be the third time. "Sergeant Davidson! Your mechanical method of pistol-loading has proven surprisingly _estimable_!" he finished with a rise of inflection in his voice. "Show those young pups the _proper_ way to _load_ and _fire_ a pistol! And watch closely, boys, because your _lives _will _depend_ upon it!"

Because the pistol was very much light in weight in comparison to the rifle or the musket, the loading procedures seemed to be a mite easier on Ben. And faster, too; Ben managed to accomplish all similar loading procedures. After making sure the ramrod was pushed back under the pistol, Ben immediately took aim and fired a single shot. The shot impacted almost at the center of the target.

"For a pistol, that's impressive!" exclaimed the sergeant before turning to the Fifth Regiment trainees. Even they seemed to be scratching their heads over how Ben managed to accomplish that seemingly remarkable feat all on his own.

"Last, but not least, you need to know how to use a bayonet at close quarters." Facing Ben again, he bellowed, "Sergeant Davidson, unsheathe your bayonet and attach it to your Land Pattern musket!" he commanded.

Maintaining a firm grip on his Land Pattern musket at barrel's end, Ben unsheathed his bayonet from his left-hand side and latched it to the musket itself. Then he hurried over to a nearby target where he took a forward stance and launched a textbook-style bayonet maneuver. It basically involved thrusting his firearm directly into the center of the bulls-eye with sheer ferocity.

"Not bad," complimented Sergeant MacKenzie. "I thank you for your assistance, Sergeant Davidson." He then shifted his attention to the young men. "You boys will do well to learn from this young officer in General Washington's Army! And as for the bayonet training, _Sergeant_ Haskall will be awaiting your presence. Dismissed!"

* * *

A/N (1): Sergeant MacKenzie's entire training session was derived entirely from the very first mission of the cinematic video game _Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2_. The mission's title is _S. S. D. D._

A/N (2): The part where Sergeant MacKenzie mentions that officers don't normally throw aside their ramrods was based off of an IMDB movie goofs section of _The Patriot_ where Col. Tavington threw aside his ramrod at a river battle. (The scene takes place later after Tavington orders a church with people inside burned down and the militia on horseback is hunting his regiment down.)

It's technically classified as a factual error. Here's the statement:

_At least twice (at the fight at the river and at the battle near the end) Tavington loads his pistol and discards his ramrod after he's done with it. This would make it impossible to reload the pistol again, and it is unlikely that a highly trained British colonel would do such a thing. At the river, dropping the rod is understandable, given the pressure, but tossing it some distance away isn't._

Go to your Google search engine and type "The Patriot 2000 IMDB" and find a link that says something to the effect of "The Patriot (2000) – Trivia – IMDB".


	7. Chapter 7

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 7

Now that Sergeant MacKenzie's training session was over, the Fifth Regiment trainees, after being dismissed, headed off together to another direction.

"Never thought I'd see a man who could load and shoot a flintlock at lightning-fast speeds," Sergeant MacKenzie remarked.

Ben looked back at him in a manner that seemed to express skepticism. "My thanks, sir," he responded. "But I'm not sure I can say honestly…that I'm _that_ fast."

"Faster than most…and almost flawless," Sergeant MacKenzie complimented, thinking that Ben was understating his ability to handle a flintlock firearm. "By God, Sergeant, if everyone jack of the men in Washington's Army were as proficient as you…"

"Well, we still have the Fifth Regiment…and the French on our side," said Ben. "But…we're still a long way off from ever achieving our independence from Britain. And…we still have to contend with their own professional forces."

Sergeant MacKenzie looked at Ben hard. "Sergeant, did no one ever tell you of the Battle of Culloden Lough?" he asked rather rhetorically.

"No, sir," Ben answered.

"The battle that took place on the Scottish Highlands in '46, where me and my fellow Highlanders on the Jacobite side pitted ourselves against the British when they encroached our lands," the sergeant expounded. "I was in the Atholl Brigade…charging on boggy ground, where the redcoats in front of us were able to repel us with their guns like they were shooting game…all because of that damn bog." He took a hard breath. "We kept on fighting…but we could not keep it up…not forever."

"What happened?" asked Ben.

"We were cut down…without mercy," said Sergeant MacKenzie. "Those barely alive on the battlefield were stabbed to death by bayonets." He looked at Ben. "But it was not entirely hopeless from the start. We had the French on our side…and we had Bonnie Prince Charlie to command our armies."

Ben thought on the sergeant's past predicament for a moment. "Why did you lose, then?" he asked.

"It's…_probable_…that the combined forces of the Scots and the French were probably not coordinated effectively," said Sergeant MacKenzie. "But not only that, Bonnie Prince Charlie _abandoned_ us to our fates…when he thought that our cause was lost.

"Where is he now?" asked Ben.

"Damned if I know," said the sergeant. "Five years after the Jacobite cause was lost, I was already on a ship bound to the Colonies. I wouldn't be entirely surprised if General Washington did the same thing that Bonnie Prince Charlie did."

"It's not likely he will do that," said Ben. "I don't see him as the type of man who will give up on us."

"If your faith in Washington is that strong, sergeant, I pray God that it will be rewarded," said the sergeant. "But you…and every man jack in Washington's Army have the Fifth Regiment to call upon you to give you a strategic edge against the Brits…and the French to reinforce every man jack of you. You…you are lucky. Remember that."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir," said Ben considerately.

"Good lad," said the sergeant. "You're dismissed."

"Yes, sir."

Ben and the Scottish sergeant saluted each other before parting ways. After watched the sergeant walk away from him he decided to make his way to his tent, which happened to be set up at a block adjacent to where the Merriman family resided, specifically between Queen Street and Centre Lane. As usual, Ben's own comrade-in-arms, Private Walter Wheaton was there, settled at the tent as well. Walter waved at Ben to get his attention.

"Sergeant Davidson…you're here…at last," Walter greeted his superior rather dramatically.

Ben and Walter gave each other a man-hug. It was in the form of giving each other a close high-five before that manly embrace. For the most part, the feeling was mutual, and their attitude was to damn all regulations regarding greetings to people of different rank. They headed back to the tent.

"How was assisting Sergeant MacKenzie?" Walter started asking.

"Intimidating," Ben answered rather flatly. "Though I have to admit, the Sergeant was quite the loudmouth. Then again, that's what you'd expect of an officer desperate to train his men for the field of battle." He was used to the fact that life was not only busy, but also straining in Washington's Army. "It's a great relief to get a moment's respite," he said.

"Well, our moment's respite is to be short-lived, I'm afraid, Sergeant," said Walter. "We have to wait for Matthew Brady, who is soon to be joining us. We are to be briefed on our very first assignment by Captain Howell. And His Excellency General Washington is bound to be present at the briefing as well."

General George Washington had just made his arrival into Williamsburg on the morning of yesterday, and the Continental forces were working in conjunction with the French troops. The British had left Williamsburg a month and a half ago.

Captain Michael Howell was the Captain of the Fifth Regiment. He was responsible for influencing Ben to join the Fifth Regiment rather than the militia or the regular infantry. In this way he steered Ben up from a lowly occupation in Washington's Army into an area where men with potential concerned about being stationed on the front lines of battle would be rigorously trained to perform special operations outside the regular occupations of Washington's Army. Capt. Howell also mentioned before to Ben that he served with Ben's father during the Cherokee Indian attack on Roanoke, where Ben's father, Matthew Davidson, fell in battle while stalling the assaulting Cherokee Indians. He was one of a handful of men who fought and died giving the Roanoke settlers a chance to escape the wrath of the Cherokees.

It was not long for talks to shift to visits of family members and acquaintances with whom both Ben and Walter knew back in Williamsburg.

"So how was your family back in Williamsburg you're still apprenticed to?" asked Walter.

"Apparently, they are the picture of health," Ben answered. "'Tis a blessing to see that they're quite well…considering how much they had to go through with the British occupation." He inhaled through his nose. "Especially Lissie. To this day I still remember the day she set her fancies on me."

Walter started looking at Ben in a rather wry way. "Come on, Ben. That was…how long?"

"Three years ago," Ben reminisced. "How strange…"

"Three years ago. How strange…"

"Aye, three," Walter started musing. "A lot can change within that time. Fervent longings experienced by sweethearts carried away by romantic raptures start to cool off as you get older…and as people grow up, their social perspectives will evolve to the point where they become skeptical of what society wants of them and they start to wonder whether what society wants of them is best for them…personally."

Ben had to give some thought over what Walter had said. If the war was ever going to be over, he would have to expect serious alterations in the life he led before it. "Your point being?" he asked.

"My point being is that when we return home from the war, the households we return to will not be the same as when we left them. Can't expect everything to be the same again."

"Sounds like we missed quite a lot while we were away," said Ben.

"Aye, 'tis true, mate," Walter agreed. "But think about it; life would be pretty dull if we had to go through the same old household daily routines. One of these days something has to change our lives."

"For good or for evil," Ben added. "The former is preferable, though the latter, sadly, can barely be helped."

"Well, I was hoping that this war wasn't going to be one of those things to change us," said Walter. "I was hoping for something…better."

"Like what?" asked Ben.

"Like…you know…well, traveling the Colonies," replied Walter. When the war was over he had plans to see what was up North. "I was hoping to get a glimpse of New York, though."

"Hmm…had I enlisted earlier, I would have seen it," Ben reflected.

"Tell me you're joking, mate, 'cause that's unlikely you would have seen New York," Walter contradicted his commanding officer. "If you were in Washington's Army, what you would be seeing instead would be your starving comrades at Valley Forge, 'cause the British took New York."

It turned out that Ben had kind of said it in jest. "Walter, it was a joke," said Ben. "Somewhat."

"So you did hear of it, then," said Walter. "So did I."

It was not until he started taking a glance at his pistol. "Heard it was a dreadful ordeal. I wasn't there, but 'tis mollifying how sharp the contrast had been between the British and us; the Brits were celebrating Christmas with all manner of pomp and gaiety while we suffered from starvation and cold. I'm willing to bet that if your body was eating itself, you'd shoot yourself with a pistol if you had one on hand."

"Remind me to thank the Lord that I was spared the misfortunes of Washington's Army during the early years of the war," said Ben.

"Better remember to do that the next time you attend service at Bruton Parish," Walter admonished him.

As Ben was slightly in his thoughts, he had a hunch to note his surroundings. It seemed that the place he was in had some sort of personal significance to him. "Hard to believe it's been this long since I joined the Fifth Regiment…here…in this very place…" he mused.

He could almost remember the time when he was asked to join the special assignments branch on account of his father's past history with Captain Howell long before the branch's establishment. Captain Howell figured that Ben had a sort of determined spirit; the type that seemed to compel him to run off to join Washington's Army seven years ago, before being talked out of it by the very same girl he found himself falling in love with.

"Don't worry, Sergeant," Walter tried to assure him in his own sympathetic manner. "When you and I get back home, we'll be back in the arms of our sweethearts, wishing our moments with them will last for all eternity." He scratched his head in a thoughtful manner. "Fancy that, Ben. At least the war hasn't hit this town hard, compared to those up North."

Walter did have a point to make. Much of the fighting during the war was done in the Northern Colonies. "But the British have vandalized almost everything in our homes," Ben had to mention.

"Aye, that be true, Ben…but you exaggerate," Walter answered. "All the British were asking for were necessary supplies to continue their journey. Granted, of course, their means of obtaining them were not exactly…savory, for want of a better word. Besides, according to Captain Howell, it seemed that the British…were retreating."

"To Yorktown?" asked Ben. Yorktown was the place where he was from; where he was born.

"Aye," answered Walter.

Ben heaved a very heavy sigh, as that place was his former hometown. It was also where the only relation left of his own family, his mother, was residing, after his father and sister died, and he had plans on visiting her after the war was over. Now he strongly suspected the British would be nearly turning the place inside out in order to make it a more fortified stronghold. It was sad point of fact that the tranquil place where he was from was now being occupied by the British.

"Your hometown…wasn't it," Walter said to him sympathetically. Ben only answered with a nod of his head. "Ben…I don't think His Excellency would give the order for our troops to make a long march to Yorktown…unless he was certain he could whup those arrogant Brits up their arses quick and clean." With that he flung his hand sideways from Ben as some sort of gesture motion.

In a seemingly timely moment, there was a rumble sound outside. Ben and Walter went outside their tent to check to see who it was. Arriving nearly at their doorstep was a young man, Matthew Brady. The entire state of his body was for the most part unkempt. His curly blond hair which bordered between dark and light was matted with sweat, and his uniform was rugged with wear and tear. Ben and Walter could almost come to conclusions that the young man himself had seen better days.

"Brady!" Ben greeted. "What the hell happened to you? You look like a starving, haggard old man without an army!"

"Aye, Sergeant," Brady answered rather cheerfully. "I just got back."

"Well, guess what, Brady," said Walter. "We're to be briefed on our next mission."

Walter started taking notice of Brady's sword. "You've got to show me how that sword is made," he said to him.

At a hunch, Brady pulled his sword to check it. Remarkably, the blade was shaped in a straight fashion rather than curved, and its point was angularly shaped in the form of a right triangle, like a katana. But there was something more unusual about the sword as well.

Brady's sword was crafted in a manner foreign to the conventions of European cutlasses. Rather than pounded by blacksmiths' hammers on one layer of steel, Brady's sword had its blade utilize an amalgamation of steel in differing physical densities. Essentially the blade was topped with medium steel, and the back of the blade was reinforced with soft steel. For the blade's edge, hard steel was used to provide slashing strength and more guided force power for use in battle. The hardened steel on the blade edge could also minimize bluntness, and reinforced the entire blade almost impervious to breaking. The hard layer of steel underwent a metallurgical procedure called differential hardening, where metal was heated at a very high temperature and cooled rapidly.

Brady had this sword specially made for him. The entire technique was clandestinely borrowed from the Far East by a friend who visited a little of the place and came back to the Colonies. The whole procedure was said to cost a little more than hundred pounds. Somehow Brady was able to have the Fifth Regiment cover two-thirds of the cost, while he paid the remainder out of his own pocket. Brady could almost brag that his sword would be strong enough to sometimes break the cutlasses of the British if he fought hand-to-hand with them. Ben had heard Brady discuss the details of his sword a long time ago, so he was accustomed to seeing him use it.

Ben, Walter, and Brady were pretty much involved in a fair number of tasks, half of them involving reconnaissance, and some involving being couriers for food and game. Ben's wry face indicated a desire to see it all end. In the case of the Fifth Regiment, supply missions were a little more dangerous because redcoats and various members of Loyalist militia would occasionally launch raids on Fifth Regiment supply parties. But that usually didn't happen a lot.

"Cheer up, Ben," said Ben. "For the Fifth Regiment, every mission we do for His Excellency brings us one step closer to being free from British rule. "

"Walter's right, you know," said Brady. "You ain't the only one who longs for this war to be over soon. So…" he continued, turning to Ben. "Who are our honored guests for this season?"

"Captain Michael Howell, and the French General…Rochambeau," Ben answered.

"And don't forget to include His Excellency," added Walter.

"General Washington?" Brady inquired rather quizzically.

"Aye," Walter answered. "We'll be having a hell of an audience with him."

"When does it start?" asked Brady.

"Noon." Walter looked up at the thin overcast hovering across. "And…it's nearly noon."

At that Ben picked up his personal effects and slung them over his shoulder. "Well, we're wasting time," he declared.

"We've wasted time already, Ben" said Walter. "In fact, we wasted nearly half a quarter of an hour just waiting for good ol' Matthew Brady to show up."

The young men slung their muskets over their shoulders and left the tent. Their walking destination was General Washington's command tent, which was situated about a quarter of a mile from their tent.

Walter and Brady shouldered each other. Ben could nearly overhear their conversations, though at that point he was not at all intent in knowing what was going on between both Walter and Brady.

* * *

A/N: The description of how Matthew Brady's special sword was forged was based on the forging techniques of Japanese sword-smithing. Perhaps it's quite possible that Brady's unnamed friend somehow knew something about forging techniques he brought back from Japan. If that's so, you might be asking why any of the Continental Army officers never bothered to have swords like the one Brady has. Well, the expense is prohibitive, for one thing, as Brady mentioned. Another consideration is that it would be too unwieldy for officers accustomed to European-style sword-fighting.


	8. Chapter 8

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 8

The brief stroll through the camp of Washington's Army was pretty straightforward, so far in terms of direction as Ben followed Walter and Brady causally from a distance. He took notice of the fact that the camp, aside from having its diverse mix of regular English-borne troops and French infantry regulars in the distinct uniforms of their respective countries, was in its state of maintaining activity but far from being ready for an immediate battle. Continental and French troops busied themselves to cleaning and loading their weapons and war gear. A campfire or two was lit for the purpose of cooking breakfast meals. If there were to be any women and children present in the camp, they were usually engaged with the cooking, the laundry, and not surprisingly, the personal hygiene of the troops. Some of the women would visit the camp to exchange words with their husbands and brothers, or their lovers, and some would try to woo other men.

Ben could also take notice of the fact that some French and Continental infantrymen would exchange words with each other, with some difficulty, due to pretty strong language barriers. Also he took notice of the fact that almost all the French troops were dressed a little more finely than most of Washington's Continental regulars. The typical white color of the French uniforms, which exuded an air of royalty, stood out in contrast to the regular Continental blue; making the French seem like there were more well-off in terms of material, which they were; the French had better firearms, better equipment, and better training, given that many of them had past experience with conventional European warfare, as did their commanding officers in the field. Clearly they were up for the fight against Britain. And it was thanks in large part to Ben Franklin's political maneuverings in France that the French king was persuaded to send them to the Colonies to assist Washington's Army.

After the little stroll that Ben and his comrades took through the camp, they finally arrived to a huge, almost regal-looking tent. One of the two armed guards, upon taking keen notice of the arrivals, promptly lifted the huge flap to let them through.

Ben and his comrades were silently awed by the state of the tent. Save for a slight clutter of various charts and maps across a separate table, the rest of the tent's interior was for the most part kept in an orderly condition. For instance, Washington's bed was fixed, as well as some of his personal effects, which were beside his bed. Then there were his correspondence letters, which were stacked neatly on a dresser, as well as a King James Biblewhose cover was showing signs of wear and tear.

Present in the command tent were a Continental colonel who went by the name of Thomas Loxley, and two French officers; the most prominent of them was the Marquis de Rochambeau, accompanied by Chevalier DeFarge. Whenever the French officers spoke English, it carried a heavy French accent that seemed to give the impression that they were holding their noses while speaking.

But the most prominent figure to stand out both in stature in uniform was the renowned commander-in-chief of the Continental Army, His Excellency General George Washington. Standing almost six feet tall, he posed as a formidable man among the officers. His almost round face always seemed to carry a grave and curt countenance about him that bespoke all manner of strict professional behavior he would exhibit among the men under his command. He also seemed to be tight-lipped and sometimes smiled very little. But in spite of his professional but perceived distant exterior was also a disposition to be accommodating and have a strong sense of dignity, as well as being disposed toward being a leader whom his men could count on, and having a strong sense of duty to his country and his countrymen.

At present, there was a flurry of discussion among the officers. From what Ben and his comrades could make out from the conversation at hand, the officers seemed to have serious concerns over a valuable window of opportunity which seemed to be closing fast.

"…So to confirm…," Colonel Thomas Loxley confided quietly to the General, "…The Admiral de Grasse's fleet of warships is scheduled to head down… _south_ of the Chesapeake…"

"…_Oui_…" agreed the Chevalier DeFarge. "With that in mind, we have the possibility of cutting off Lord Cornwallis' only escape route by sea…"

"…But…only if our fleet can reach the York River on time," cut in Rochambeau. "Even with the Marquis de Lafayette…to bolster our already combined forces…we will make little difference if Cornwallis escapes with his men…"

"And…with the fleet's deadline…" added the Chevalier DeFarge in a grave manner.

"Exactly," Rochambeau put in. "You know only de Grasse can only stay in the Chesapeake for at least a month…he's got the British to contend with in the West Indies…"

Present among the officers was the keenly observant Captain Howell of the Fifth Regiment, who was present at the meeting to discuss assignment strategy involving the Fifth Regiment giving both the Continentals and the French a series of tactical advantages against the British. At the presence of Ben and his comrades, the captain cleared his throat loud enough for all to hear. The officers, including General Washington, promptly took notice of the three young men standing at the entranceway of the General's tent.

"Ah, yes," began Captain Howell in a manner that displayed his gentlemanly confidence. "Your Excellency, may I introduce Sergeant Benjamin Davidson, Private Walter Wheaton, and Private Matthew Brady of Col. Henry Lee's Fifth Regiment."

"A great honor, Your Excellency," added Ben.

In reply to his greeting, General Washington conveyed a very light smile, which looked almost stiff and forced, including a slight and curt nod of acknowledgment to the existence of Sergeant Davidson and his Fifth Regiment squad.

"Clearly there must be something special going on that warrants the presence of Fifth Regimenters," said Rochambeau, who clearly started to feel alarmed. A sense of anxiety could be reflected in his tone of voice. "More dirty work, perhaps?"

"Not exactly, General," said Washington. The Commander-in-Chief could be a little at ease, in spite of his externally stiff personality.

"I am not quite sure I see your way, Monsieur Washington," said Rochambeau. Turning to the Chevalier, they both started carrying conversation with each other in French. Their tone, apparently, seemed to be one of great anxiety.

"Captain, what's going on?" Ben quietly inquired his superior.

"Well…apparently, the General's aloofness over questions concerning the assignments of the Fifth Regiment seems to tickle his nerves," Captain Howell answered Ben. "I'm guessing that he is quite concerned about the Fifth Regiment operating outside the rules of conventional warfare."

"Sir…how can you tell?" asked Brady.

"The Marquis de Rochambeau is usually informed about what the Fifth Regiment is doing on missions concerning him and his men…when it comes to…evening the odds," replied Captain Howell.

Evening the odds usually involved giving the French troops a tactical edge in battle. Sometimes the Fifth Regiment would act as covert snipers, scouts, and facilitators of army supplies, among the myriad of activities.

"Would 'evening the odds' involve doing what Daniel Morgan's famed Riflemen did to General Fraser?" asked Ben. It was said that during the second battle of Saratoga one of Daniel Morgan's men was ordered to shoot British General Fraser on sight.

"Nay," replied Captain Howell. "General Washington has given strict orders to the Fifth Regimenters that officers are not to be touched by our rifles." He exhaled out of anxiety. "For good reason. The British would be justified in doing the same to _our_ officers. And to the General himself."

"I see," said Walter, scratching his head skeptically. For Fifth Regimenters, such a restriction was a mite unorthodox in combat, given the branch's core philosophy involved doing whatever was necessary to give Washington's Army a tactical advantage over the British.

It was during the conversation going on that General Washington ordered his aide-de-camp, Lieutenant-Colonel Alexander Hamilton to bring forth a series of maps and charts to the strategy table. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton brought them to the table promptly and proceeded to spread them out.

"Who is that fellow with the maps?" Ben inquired Captain Howell out of casual curiosity. Anything that involved a distraction from impending mission was enough to put him at ease, even for a little while.

"That…is Lieutenant-Colonel Alexander Hamilton, His Excellency's aide-de-camp." Captain Howell answered.

"Say again?" asked Ben.

"He is Washington's personal assistant," said Captain Howell.

"Is…is that all he serves in?" asked Ben.

"Not entirely," said Captain Howell. "When he's not in that role, he usually leads some of Washington's men into battle."

"If that's the case, his responsibility is far greater than mine," Ben seemed to marvel.

Before anything else could be said, General Washington started clearing his throat. All conversation came to a full stop.

"Well, then," said Captain Howell. "If that is all, then with his Excellency's permission, I will now proceed with the general details of the Fifth Regiment's plan of attack."

"You may, Captain," said General Washington, who made a curt nod of his head. "Carry on."

Captain Howell immediately faced Ben and his squad mates. "Your objective is two-fold," he declared. "Your primary objective is to sabotage two British frigates, acquired for the transportation of troops and war materiel…intended to reinforce their defenses at Yorktown.

"Can you be a more specific, sir?" asked Ben.

"I was just getting to it, Sergeant," said Captain Howell, who seemed irked at having to expound on his previous statements. He turned to a map revealing Charles Town and its harbors. "Both ships are named _India_ and _Archer_, and from what we can glean from our Fifth Regiment scouts, they are docked at Charles Town harbor. It won't be long, though, before those frigates start leaving the harbor to reinforce Yorktown before we and the French pressure Lord Cornwallis into surrendering."

"Lord Cornwallis…sir?" asked Brady.

"He's the man in charge of defending Yorktown," replied Captain Howell. "If we can keep him and his men trapped inside this town, we can…hopefully…_persuade_ him into surrendering and bring this entire war to an end."

Captain Howell took a deep breath before resuming his briefing. "Anyway…by sabotaging at least one of the ships, it weakens the ability for the British to maintain a sure foothold at Yorktown…thus paving the way for its inevitable assault, should the French be successful in their endeavors to trap the British in," he informed the Fifth Regimenters. "Should you manage all on your own to sabotage both ships…well, you inflict twice the damage. And you are authorized to use any means necessary to achieve this objective."

"Any…_means_?" Ben inquired.

"Sink 'em, burn 'em, whatever it takes to put those damn things out of commission."

Ben was sort of hoping that whatever he and his squad was tasked to do by the commander-in-chief wouldn't compromise his personal integrity and that of his men completely. In the Fifth Regiment, the end in itself was usually more in focus than the means to achieve the end. That was the reason why General Washington established the Fifth Regiment; so that it could have the authority to carry out certain extra-legal assignments that Washington would normally not allow himself or his officers in the Continental Army to do, lest his reputation and that of his officers would be tarnished.

"Can't we just capture them as war prizes, Captain?" asked Walter.

"With just the three of you, success in this endeavor is going to be unlikely as taking back New York from the British with just three men," replied Captain Howell. "Besides, I also need you alive."

"Um…alive? Of…of course we intend to come back alive, Captain," said Ben.

"I'm not going to have all three of you die over capturing two frigates from the British fleet," Captain Howell admonished him. "Besides, you also have a secondary objective ahead of you."

"The list goes on…" muttered Walter.

"Exactly; but this objective is intended to be your _last_ for the remainder of your assignment," Captain Howell spoke as if the assignment that Ben and his comrades were to carry out was not their _only_ assignment. "You are to rescue the Colonel Matthias Cooke's only daughter, Susanna Cooke. It so happens…that her father happens to be well acquainted with General Benjamin Lincoln, who a year ago has had the unfortunate occurrence of suffering the humiliation of losing Charles Town to the British. Bit of a portly fellow, from what I recall from seeing him before…"

"What's General Lincoln have to do with his acquaintance's daughter?" asked Ben.

"Colonel Cook has been at the forefront of assisting the Continental Army in its efforts to feed and clothe the troops during the spring of '77…after many of its troops faced horrendous starvations at Valley Forge," Captain Howell answered. "He was one of the officers who facilitated the transportation of supplies to the camp. And…it so happens that the British have gotten wind of his activities, which would explain why they have his daughter for ransom. By doing that they hope to severely discourage the Colonel's activities in facilitating our war effort."

"Why?" asked Ben. "How's that possible?"

"General Henry Clinton was somehow informed that keeping Susanna Cooke in secure custody would allow him to make ransom money off of her while at the same time depriving her father of his riches," said Captain Howell.

"So…by forcing the Colonel to pay a handsome sum of money for his daughter's release…they hope to bring him to the point of bankruptcy," said Ben.

"Exactly," agreed Captain Howell. "And the British make money off of her, too," he added.

"How unethical can they get?" asked Walter with sarcastic humor.

"Being held for ransom is a far better fate than awaiting the gallows…or the firing squad," he said to him close to his face. "Though the firing squad is a bit more merciful, I'll grant that." He turned away from Walter. "Still…"

Ben sighed. Now he and his squad were now tasked with rescuing a general's daughter from captivity, in addition to blowing up two frigates. But deep inside, he wondered whether both he and his squad would be able to pull off two stunts like that and come back alive.

"Will that be all, Captain?" asked Ben, wanting to bring closure to the matter.

"Aye, Sergeant," answered Captain Howell.

"Beseeching your pardon, Excellency, but we thought we were going to attack New York…" blurted the Chevalier.

"…Which is what we initially planned," interrupted Rochambeau. "However, I…in my good wisdom, decided against it, considering that the Admiral de Grasse and his fleet are heading to the Chesapeake."

"Right now…the Admiral de Grasse is heading up the Chesapeake…as we speak…to prevent the escape of Lord Cornwallis and his men," said Captain Howell, already confirming what the Marquis de Rochambeau already mentioned. "However, he can only stay in the Chesapeake for a month before he has to head back to the West Indies. Our window of opportunity is slowly but steadily becoming narrower with each passing day, and the British are reinforcing Yorktown." He glanced back at Ben and his comrades. "Are there any questions?" he asked.

"Just one…sir," said Ben.

"You may."

"With respect, sir," Ben began. "You are asking me and my men to infiltrate Charles Town, which to my knowledge, is still occupied by the redcoats. To do this, we would have to be _one_ of the redcoats.

"Disguise, you mean?" asked Captain Howell.

"Aye, sir," answered Ben. "Would you have any of their uniforms to spare?"

"I'm afraid that in this vicinity, Sergeant, you and your men would be at risk of getting shot at by the Continental Army or the militia, or worse, questioned by local militia loyal to the Crown," Captain Howell answered. "Your best bet for you and your men would be to secure enemy uniforms by any means necessary when you're inside their camp."

The request obviously generated laughter among the French officers, save for General Washington, as that particular idea was unusual in their mindset of conducting European Warfare. For European officers, warfare seemed to be something of a sport. The Fifth Regiment had a different mindset when it came to warfare, and it usually involved playing against the rules of war on occasion.

But after hearing Captain Howell, the Chevalier, who happened to understand English, started protesting furiously to General Rochambeau in French over the matter. For the French, who were greatly accustomed to conducting field battles in their homeland, sabotage and infiltration was too unconventional for them. Even among enemies, Europeans usually carried a sense of honor even when fighting on the battlefield, and tactics that the Fifth Regiment engaged in were cavalier to their tastes.

"Couldn't we just…strip redcoat prisoners of their uniforms, pack 'em up, and put 'em on when we reach enemy lines?" asked Walter.

"Should the officers of a certain regiment or detachment start asking questions about what regiment or detachment you're in , you boys are going to have a hell of a time blending in with the enemy," Captain Howell warned him.

"Guess that means we're just gonna have to steal uniforms from their camp," said Ben. Captain Howell had to nod in agreement.

"If that is all, then I wish you and your trusty squad Godspeed," he declared. "Gentlemen, you are dismissed.

Ben, Walter, and Brady headed out of General Washington's tent. Captain Howell went back to the table and stared over the map of Charles Town.

"Godspeed to them all," he muttered rather prayerfully.

Immediately a concerned Chevalier DeFarge looked up at the commander-in-chief. "Monsieur Washington, you set for them…an _impossible_…task," he objected outright.

General Washington only widened his eyes in response, confident that the squad would do all in their power to carry out their mission. "Impossible?" he asked rather rhetorically. "Not for the Fifth Regiment."

* * *

A/N (1): Guess what…the character of Alexander Hamilton is supposed to be the younger version of the real Alexander Hamilton who became one of America's most influential Founding Fathers! However, the character of Alexander Hamilton in this fanfic is sort of a passive character, even if he's technically a part of Washington's army staff, in addition to being Washington's personal assistant. He would have been (1781-1755=26) 26 years old, in his mid-20s. He would still be in an officer's uniform, though.

A/N (2): An article from Paladin Associates describes General George Washington to be "cordial, dependable, conscientious, and dedicated". That's where the descriptions were derived from.

A/N (3): I mentioned that Washington had a Bible on his dresser. If any of you readers have some dispute with that little tidbit, feel free to mention it in the comments. I'm not entirely sure he actually did, but given that Washington said "It is impossible to govern without God and the Bible," I don't think that Washington would have included Sacred Scripture in his statement unless he actually read it. I'm thinking that during those times of great adversity people usually looked to Scripture for consolation and inspiration, and I wouldn't be a whole lot surprised if George Washington did the same.


	9. Chapter 9

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 9

Ben was busying himself at the stable, packing his personal effects. He made sure that his dark blue woolen blanket was rolled up and neatly tied. He opened his haversack and checked to see if his effects were put in order. Inside his haversack were a handful of hardtack, beef, and at least three fresh apples recently put in place. Next was his knapsack, which carried his powder horn, bullet balls, and cartridges. Save for the fresh apples, the rest of the effects were issued by the Fifth Regiment.

Laying aside his pack and his blanket, he checked his knapsack to make sure that his powder horn was adequately filled and more importantly, kept dry. Ben wanted to check his cap to make sure that it was in acceptable condition. Picking up his tricorn hat, he stared for a brief moment at the emblazoned Roman numeral V set in gold thread.

For a moment, he reflected on what it took to earn the right to wear the uniform; thoughts came to him over the privilege of being a part of a branch in Washington's Army that set him and his comrades above all other soldiers in the Continental Army. Members of the Fifth Regiment were usually better trained than their Continental counterparts, and Fifth Regimenters were usually given free rein in their operations with little oversight from Congress, whether they involved sabotage of enemy camps and operations, or for that matter, supplying Washington's Army in any way. However, the training was far more rigorous and much was expected of the Fifth Regimenter; and they were usually held more accountable to the commander-in-chief than any other officer in the Continental Army. And they all came with a tradeoff; a tradeoff that would sometimes involve putting his personal honor on the line if it meant giving Washington's Army a strategic advantage over the British, even if there were ethical issues involved regarding the means.

Laying aside his tricorn hat, he decided to look around the stable. For the most part, the horses were settled, including Penny, the copper-colored mare whom Felicity rescued from Mr. Nye and eventually was given to her by her grandfather, who passed away long ago. It also seemed to have brought back a longtime memory of the time when he confronted Felicity about his breeches almost seven years ago, which Ben was beginning to find himself reflecting on as he proceeded to don on his uniform, inserting one brass button into a button hole one at a time.

* * *

_He could see himself taking notice of an almost silhouette-like figure of Felicity with her back facing him. "You!" he called out in what seemed to be a cold tone of voice. The figure of Felicity froze on the spot._

"_What do you have there?" Ben asked Felicity coldly again before approaching her. Then he noticed that Felicity had what appeared to be Ben's breeches._

"_What?" he cried. "You have my best Sunday breeches?" he took them off Felicity's hands before examining them again. "They're wet and covered with mud!" He sniffed them as well before facing Felicity. "Felicity, are you…"_

"_I'm sorry, Ben," she interrupted him while in her frightened, guilty state. "I was borrowing them. I just…I just needed them."_

"_Felicity, tell me what you have been doing," he told her quietly._

_Felicity took a deep breath. "I'm visiting Penny. The horse at the tannery."_

"_That horse?" asked Ben._

* * *

During that moment in time, he had acted coldly with Felicity. And it seemed to have caused Ben to shake his head over this. At that time, he was a newcomer in the Merriman family, and to him Felicity was a whole new person to him; always doing things he considered unpredictable and unladylike.

But after seven years, he began to muse over how much Felicity had grown on him; how he would remember her doing things he would never dare to do; like rescuing Penny from Mr. Nye's tannery, and risk being hanged for doing so, and alerting the entire town about the governor's marines filching the gunpowder from the town magazine house. Then there was her rescuing him in secret when he was running off to join Washington's Army, even though his contract with her father was not yet through, and eventually firm convincing on Felicity's part on Ben to abandon his plans to join the army and continue his apprenticeship with her father. Now he was involved in Washington's Army, doing things that he thought, one way or another, would gain him and his fellow men the freedom from British rule.

Ben picked up his cap and proceeded to put it on when he took notice of a familiar figure standing at the doorway of the stable.

"Ben?" the figure called.

Immediately he turned around to see who it was. It was Felicity.

"Lissie?" he asked, slightly bewildered.

"Am I…interrupting you in your thoughts?" she asked him thoughtfully.

"Um…no. Not…not at all," Ben stammered.

"I'm glad," she answered. "I was afraid I would have…"

"Lissie, it's all right," Ben reassured her.

Felicity nodded her head. "Are you…leaving so soon…already?" she asked him, noticing that he was already dressed to join the army.

After making sure that his capped was on his head securely, Ben immediately picked up his rolled-up blanket and his gear. "Washington's Army is headed for Yorktown," he answered her. "So are the Fifth Regiment boys."

"I see," said Felicity.

She made her approach closer to Ben. She couldn't help but feel some slight embarrassment for herself because she had something to confide with Ben that she thought would sound like her acting like a little girl. But Ben would be away, and she could think of no other time to confide him with it.

"You know… it's rather hard to believe that three years ago…I was pleading for you to return home…" Felicity reminisced.

"I seem to recall this moment a little too well," said Ben, his eyes widening. He laughed quietly. "You were only thirteen at that time."

Felicity made a muffled giggle. She may have grown up, but inside her there was still a little of the same outgoing girl that he knew when he first arrived in Williamsburg to learn his trade with Mr. Merriman. And Ben knew it, much to his delight. He didn't want Felicity to be too morose, especially during his leave-taking.

"Aye, I was," replied Felicity. "But 'tis now that I realize I was making such a fool of myself."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Lissie," he said to her softly. "You and I knew each other since…well, childhood. And having that loved one leave for the war can really…change you…quite a lot."

"And when you came back…I was sixteen," said Felicity.

"Aye. Sixteen. Practically a young lady," Ben added. "The finest any man could ever ask for. No doubt you had to keep the suitors at bay."

Felicity made a silent nod to herself before looking at Penny. She stroked the back of the copper-colored mare's head. "You're a good girl," she whispered tenderly to her.

"I'd very much like to see you ride her again," said Ben.

"Perhaps," said Felicity. "Father is still riding her when he collects supplies for the Patriots."

"What about Patriot?" asked Ben, after taking notice of Penny's foal, now fully grown up.

"Marcus has just learned to ride him as well," answered Felicity. Marcus was the Merriman family's dark-skinned household servant.

"It's been a long time since I last saw them," said Ben, referring to Penny and Patriot. "It's comforting to know that both Penny and Patriot are together during those trips." He looked around the stable before taking notice of the stable doorway. "Shall we head outside?" he asked Felicity

"Aye; let's do that," Felicity answered.

Ben picked up his gear as Felicity settled the horses. Then he courteously extended his hand to her, to which Felicity graciously accepted it. Together they headed outside the stable. The bright sunshine made both of their eyes squint, and it dappled both their skin and hair.

* * *

"What will you be doing during the war?" asked Felicity worriedly, as she and Ben made their way to the Merriman house. Uncertainty about Ben's whereabouts would be a source of worry for her.

"As with every assignment involving the Fifth Regiment…I cannot confide with you, Lissie," Ben said sadly to her.

"Why not?" asked Felicity.

"It would compromise the assignment…before it can even begin," Ben answered her with grave seriousness. "Anyone can question you…bribe you…threaten you…if you had knowledge of what me and my comrades-in-arms were doing."

"I see…" Felicity sadly had to acknowledge. As much as she wanted to know exactly where Ben would go, she had to remember that that Ben's safety and that of his men would rest on the secrecy of what they would be assigned to do during the war.

"But I know this, Lissie," Ben said with pretty dramatic personal conviction. "Every assignment accomplished by the Fifth Regiment brings us one step closer to our freedom from British rule."

"But will you live…to see its outcome?" asked Felicity worriedly.

"Um…it's rather hard to say," said Ben.

Ben was the first to head through the back door of the house. He found it to be a relief to be inside a house, even if for a little while. Both he and Felicity made their entry through the dining room.

There was a moment of silence as Ben had to take his time to figure out how to respond to Felicity's rhetorical question. Certainly the missions that Ben and his comrades were assigned did not expose him to the front lines, but that did not mean that there was risk involved. Fifth Regimenters were assigned the best missions and were supplied equipment, but much would be expected of them. And if Fifth Regimenters were caught, they would be interrogated brutally. They wouldn't be given the same treatment that most prisoners of war from Washington's Army would be given by the British.

"I'll admit, though, in the Fifth Regiment, you usually get assigned to the less dangerous missions; you know…the ones that don't usually involve the front lines…where your chances of dying are…high," said Ben, hoping this fact would be of some consolation to Felicity. "But…if you get taken prisoner behind enemy lines…during those assignments…well, chances are…you won't get the same treatment that most prisoners of war will get. If you've got valuable information on you…"

"…You'll be threatened," Felicity added with fright.

"Aye," Ben agreed.

Felicity heaved a sad sigh as she plopped down on one of the dining chairs near the end of the table. Ben pulled a chair nearby and seated himself close to Felicity, facing directly to her.

"Lissie, I know you're unhappy," said Ben. It saddened him to see her in that state. "But joining the Fifth Regiment was probably the best thing that I could do…without being placed in the front lines and taking the first volley." He did have a point here. Soldiers positioned in the front lines were more vulnerable, as they usually were the first to take an incoming volley from enemy fire.

"I know," said Felicity. "But even with the Fifth Regiment…" She sighed. "…I don't know; I shall keep wondering whether there could have been an alternative occupation for you."

"Why, Lissie, what would you have had me do instead?" asked Ben. The slight smile on his face seemed to indicate that he kind of had an idea of what Felicity would have him involved that did not involve active duty on the battlefield.

"Well…perhaps you could have joined Father in his courier activities…or serve the aide to some distinguished general in Washington's Army…" She smiled rather naughtily. "…Or maybe serve as the aide to General Washington himself…"

"Come on, Lissie," said Ben. "He's already got Colonel Alexander Hamilton for the job. Besides…the latter, I afraid, would barely suit me."

"Why not?" Felicity asked Ben almost immediately.

"It…um…" Ben began. "Well…I'm an active man. Having to stand beside my superior for a long time would be…intolerable."

Felicity laughed, and so did Ben. "Really?" asked Felicity.

"Aye," replied Ben. "You should see Colonel Hamilton. Personally I'm surprised he could do it. Mayhap he must be the type who was trained to sit and stand perfectly still as a child. But….I dare say the aide-de-camp does more than simply act as his superior's personal valet."

"How old is this Colonel Alexander Hamilton, whom you speak about?" Felicity inquired rather curiously.

"I gather he's a mite older than I am," Ben answered. "Just looking at him could give you the impression that he's somewhere in his mid-twenties. You usually come across him when you meet General Washington himself."

"Could he have married already?" asked Felicity. It was not unusual for people at Hamilton's age to enter a married life.

"I don't know," replied Ben. "I suspect he is. Perhaps if I encounter him again I might ask him that question out of mere curiosity, but I have doubts that he'll reveal such personal details readily."

"You won't have to bother with that if you don't want to," said Felicity, not wanting to add anything more on Ben's list of assignments. Not that it really mattered to Ben that much…after all, was it really his business?

"All right," Ben conceded.

"You've already got enough to worry about, anyway," said Felicity. "So did us. Ever since the British were occupying Williamsburg…"

"You already told me, Lissie," said Ben. "Everything that happened at that time."

During Ben's stay, Felicity had told him about the British occupancy. She told her about the unscheduled visits by the redcoats, and how one of them looked at her in such a naughty manner that warranted Mr. Merriman quietly scolding him. He could be protective, especially when it came to his daughters, but he was rather peaceful at handling almost any sort of situation.

"I mean…after all…for two years…" said Felicity. She seemed to start slipping into a pretty despondent mood. "You were gone for two years, Ben."

Ben gently took Felicity by her shoulders. "But guess what, Lissie…I made it back home," said Ben, hoping that would, in some way, cheer her low spirits. "And in one piece. Not many of Washington's fighters have that good fortune." He hung his head. "At least for now," he added, thinking that he might not be able to get back to Williamsburg in one piece as well.

"I know," said Felicity. "And then you're going to leave us…me…again." She sighed. "When Washington's Army pushes the might of Britain to her breaking point…you'll start charging into the fray."

"Britain had already tried pushing _us_ to _our_ breaking point," Ben emphasized. "We had our own series of setbacks to last us a lifetime. We should have just given up, handed olive branches to King George, and grovel at _his_ feet begging for _his_ mercy as we would to the Lord on Judgment Day."

Felicity laughed quietly with her hands in mouth over the humor that Ben was engaging in.

"But we didn't break," said Ben. "We got up, got moving, and fought on. You must also do the same, Lissie."

Felicity impulsively raised the middle area of her gown's neckline.

"You make…such a compelling argument," said Felicity. "Mayhap I should not stay distressed for too long…"

Ben looked into Felicity's sparkly emerald-green eyes, which are filled with sadness.

Then they embraced each other, like they never have embraced before. Ben planted a light kiss on Felicity's left cheek. Felicity returned the favor, this time, on Ben's right cheek. Then their lips met, but gradually.

But after what seemed to be an eternity, Felicity pulled herself back a little from Ben's handsome face.

"Lissie? What is it?" Ben asked her a mite anxiously.

Felicity put her hand to her cheek.

"You…your cheeks are flushed," said Ben, feeling a mite confounded. "Was it something I did?"

"I…I don't know," answered Felicity. "Somehow…all this…all this just doesn't feel right…"

"What do you mean?" asked Ben.

"Well…um…you and I are not…officially…courting each other," said Felicity. "And yet…"

"Maybe it was the kiss," Ben suspected.

Felicity took a moment to recover herself. "Come," she beckoned to him. "Everyone has gathered for your leave-taking."

* * *

Inside the dining room Mrs. Merriman was donning a brand-new cloak on Ben. The cloak itself was in the color of black. Ben could feel the cloak weighing him down a little, but at the same time he felt immense gratitude within himself over the fact that he could have something to help him cope with inclement weather, rain, wind, or snow.

"There," she said quietly to him after finishing with the cloak holder.

As it so happens, the entire Merriman family was gathered in the parlor room for his leave-taking, with the intent of wishing him their fondest farewells.

"You still remember that you're not quite through with your contract with me, though," said Mr. Merriman with a light, wry chuckle.

"Aye, Mr. Merriman," Ben answered.

"Promise that you'll keep your word to return to Williamsburg when you live to see this war through," he said to Ben. "For all our sakes."

Both men shook hands.

"I haven't died yet, sir," said Ben, with a light grin on his face. Even in the midst of imminent misfortune it felt good to exude some small sense of humor from within himself. "I'll live to see through this war…and fulfill my contract with you.

"We will miss you," said Mrs. Merriman softly. "Ben. All of us…"

Ben hugged Mrs. Merriman.

"…Especially Lissie," Mrs. Merriman whispered. "I think she's quite…taken with you…" She then faced Ben. "No matter where you are, you will _always_ be part of this family," said Mrs. Merriman.

Ben made a silent nod. He would take Mrs. Merriman's word for it, as this was the only complete family that he had ever known during his childhood years since his father died when he was only two years old during a Cherokee raid at Roanoke.

He then turned to Nan, who during this year had already reached thirteen.

"We hope you'll come back to us, Ben," said Nan.

"I will…Nan," replied Ben with a nod of his head.

He then turned to William, who at this point reached eight. He was no longer the same little boy he was when Ben first encountered him.

"Hey…" Ben chuckled. "Um…try not to bring too many mud puddles into the house. Promise that?

William nodded his head with a grin.

Ben then turned to Polly, who was now practically seven. "Please come back, Ben," she said to him.

"That I swear, Polly," Ben finished.

Lastly was Felicity. Ben gently embraces her. Enveloped in each other's arms, they found solace in each other like never before, even if that moment could practically last for a few seconds. Being quite bold, Felicity kissed Ben on his right cheek.

It seemed that Felicity was kind of embarrassed over what she did, as evidenced by the fact that her cheeks were reddened somewhat. But she didn't seem to care. For all she knew, this would be the last time she would ever see him.

"Lissie?" Mrs. Merriman quietly asked, anxious over what was going on between Felicity and Ben.

Ben returned the favor on Felicity's right cheek. Closing her eyes she felt that kiss on her cheek. It felt like heaven to her.

Wanting to escape the internal embarrassment he was feeling within himself over this act, Ben proceeded to leave the dining room and quietly walked out the door. Impulsively Felicity ran out the door, too. The Merriman family watched from a distance as Ben headed down Gloucester Street to join up with Fifth Regiment and Washington's Army.

And Felicity softly blew a kiss.

"Come back soon…Ben…" she said quietly.

**END OF ACT II**

* * *

A/N: I took inspiration from – and derived – some of the conversation from a scene in Mass Effect 2 where Shepherd and an asari woman named Liara T'Soni do some catching up on a space ship called the _Normandy SR2_.

This is the conclusion of Act II. Next is Act III, where Ben and his Fifth Regiment Buddies are on a perilous mission with two objectives: sabotage two ships docked at Charles Town Harbor, and rescue a damsel-in-distress. Will they pull them off and get out of Charles Town...alive? Find out on Act III.

Note that the story's rating will be officially changed from K+ to T for Teen due to depictions of action violence.


	10. Chapter 10

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 10

Ben made his arrival back to the camp of Washington's Army, which at this point was still in its busy, vigilant mood. By the time he made his arrival there, his comrades Walter and Brady had already joined up with him from behind.

"Hopefully, you boys had time to say farewell," he said to them.

"I did," replied Walter. "I said good-bye to Sarah. Her dark-brown eyes were literally pleading me not to go." Walter was soon to be engaged to a girl named Sarah Bennett.

"Brady's farewell with his young wife, however, was tearful," Walter added. "I literally had to be with him just to get his spirits up."

This answer led Ben to make a glum face to himself. As dramatic as it would seem, Ben's awareness of the inherent dangers of Fifth Regiment assignments would warrant such descriptions from Walter, and emotionally upsetting behavior on Brady's part, especially if they knew that it might be the last time they would see their again their young wives or the girl they were soon to be engaged with.

"I understand," he answered them in a sympathetic manner befitting a true friend. "But we can't afford to have our spirits low, gentlemen. Once we're in this mission, we're committed, no matter what."

"As usual," said Walter, who didn't seem at all surprised at the prospect of not returning. "You get used to that after a while."

"I'm hoping not to," said Ben. He didn't exactly see it as something to get used to. When the war was over – if the war would ever be over, he could go back home to Williamsburg to fulfill his contract with Mr. Merriman. And he would see Felicity again.

By that point in time Ben and his squad had already reached the middle of the camp. Behind them an officer of the Fifth Regiment was gallantly making his approach.

"Sir, a word, if you please," he said briskly.

Ben and his squad turned around approached the officer. Recognizing the officer as a major, he was the first to salute.

"Sergeant Benjamin Davidson, sir," he greeted.

"Sergeant Davidson. Of course," the officer greeted back, taking note of him and his squad before facing directly to Ben. "I was told by His Excellency to pass on the reminder that you and your squad need to undergo a change of military uniform. He doesn't want any of you to leave traces of your affiliation with this special assignments branch of the Continental Army."

It was usually standard procedure for Fifth Regimenters going on an infiltration assignment to do that; however, in this case, Washington ordered his squad to do that. In the event of being captured, all manner of affiliation with the Fifth Regiment were to be disavowed and no traces should be there.

"We could simply cast off all manner of rank and insignias off our current uniforms, though," said Walter.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" the officer asked Walter, shifting his eyes on him.

"Well…I was just saying…we could simply cast off all manner of rank and insignias off our uniforms, sir," Walter proposed for what seemed to be the second time.

"Unless you want to go through the trouble of stitching them back yourselves, you're welcome to try," the officer reminded Walter.

Ben, however, had no intention of lingering on this matter for very long, so he spoke up immediately. "We'll change our uniforms, sir," he said, anxious to close the matter.

"As you wish, Sergeant," replied the officer. "Good day."

Ben saluted the major, who in turn saluted back to him. Ben and the squad were about to leave when Brady called the major.

"Sir, where do we change?" he asked him.

The major pointed at the tailor's makeshift shop, which was not that far from the armory. Following the major's pointing, he was the first to catch sight of the shop itself.

"We'll stop there first," said Ben.

As Ben had planned, he and his squad made their first stop to the tailor's makeshift shop. The shop boasted an assortment of cotton clothes and dyes. Most of the merchandise stocked in the shop was mostly army uniforms, many of them belonging to the Continental Army. If Fifth Regimenters needed uniforms, they usually purchased a standard Continental infantry uniform and decorated them with their own insignias.

"Hopefully, you'll find something that fits," said Ben.

"Shouldn't take too long," said Walter. "After all, we're all about the same size."

"We'll definitely keep the boots," said Brady. "The officer didn't say anything about changing the boots."

"Right," said Ben.

He and his squad personally selected three ordinary uniforms of the Continental Army private. Then they selected three ordinary tricorn hats. Each of the Fifth Regiment boys paid twenty-five dollars in Continental currency, which was slowly decreasing in value. As long as that paper currency was not redeemable in any specie, the value of the money would slowly decline.

Ben, Walter, and Brady then made their heading over to the camp armory, which was under the charge of the camp's gunsmith. The gunsmith kept an assortment of firearms, which included, rather unusually, the Ferguson rifle. That particular rifle had twice the capacity of a Brown Bess rifle, in the sense that a rifleman could fire two shots without reloading.

"And what can I do for you today, gentlemen?" the gunsmith asked the three boys.

"Have the guns been cleaned?" Ben asked the gunsmith.

"Aye," replied the gunsmith.

Brady was the first to take notice of the handful of Ferguson rifles stacked at the back end of the makeshift camp armory. "I'm also here to acquire one of them Ferguson rifles," he declared to the gunsmith.

"That won't be necessary, Brady," Ben said to him. "We're on an infiltration assignment. You'll simply end up leaving it behind."

"But you never know if they'll have them available," said Brady.

"I take it he's a sharpshooter?" the gunsmith asked him.

"Quite," Brady answered.

"We can arrange a special deal with the young lad here," said the gunsmith. "I'll let him acquire one of these special rifles and when the war is over, he hands over an I-owe-you."

"That's assuming, of course, if he's not dead already," said Ben rather cynically. "It's your call, Brady," he said to the young lad.

Brady made a silent nod of his head. After signing the I-owe-you on a piece of paper the gunsmith handed him the special rifle.

The rest of the squad, meanwhile, set themselves to acquiring a handful of firearms. Ben loaded up on a rifle and pistol. Walter toted two muskets and a pistol, and Brady, who had sharpshooting skills, toted a rifle and a pistol as well. They also loaded up on additional ammunition and gunpowder.

Ben and his squad members also stocked up on provisions, as the journey to Charles Town in South Carolina would last about a couple of days.

* * *

Ben and his squad headed back inside their tent. They laid aside their weapons and personal effects and set to work on changing their uniforms.

"Hey, Brady, you'll need to leave that Ferguson rifle of yours behind," Ben reminded him.

"Yes, sir," Brady answered back to his superior.

While Walter and Brady had no problem with changing their uniforms, Ben found himself staring intently at the new uniform he was going to have to change into. Because the new blue uniform lacked any external indication of rank, Ben almost felt that he was being demoted back to a private.

"Sergeant?" Walter called him. "What's the problem?"

Ben immediately turned around. "What? Oh…nothing," he found himself stammering.

"I see," said Walter, seeing the new uniform, too. "The new uniform. Well…'tis only temporary. You can still get to exercise the privileges of the rank. It just…won't be recognized…externally," he finished."

Ben took off his sergeant's uniform waistcoat and cast it on his bed. Then he donned on the uniform waistcoat of a Continental Army private.

"Finish up quickly, gentlemen," said Ben. "We don't want to be late for our ride."

* * *

The squad was waiting at the other edge of the army camp. The clip-clap of horses' hooves could be heard from nearby, as well as the sound of creaking wheels. The carriage had come.

A driver in uniform stepped down his seat.

"Excuse me, sir…but are you Sergeant Davidson?" he inquired.

Ben stepped forward. "I am," he answered the driver simply.

The driver simply stared at him in queer sort of way. "I beg your pardon, sir?" he asked. He had difficulty taking Ben at his word, considering that his uniform was devoid of any external indication of rank.

"I'm still sergeant," Ben told him. "I was not demoted. We were told to…'undergo a change of uniform'," he finished, quoting the words of the Fifth Regiment officer who gave him and his squad those instructions.

The driver needed a moment to let Ben's statements sink in. He took a breath.

"Of course…sergeant," the driver acknowledged. He saluted. "Private Bowles at your service, sir," he said. Ben saluted back.

"I was told to have my carriage available for the use of you…and your men," said the driver.

"Thank you," said Ben. "Let's hope we last this journey, though."

"Journey should only take a couple o' days, sir," said the driver. I'll be taking you and your men as far as the Quarter House up north of the Neck."

"You know your way around?" asked Walter.

"Been traveling this road during my supply missions," the driver answered Walter. "Why don't you all climb on board," he said to the squad.

"Of course," said Ben. He and his men headed to the rear of the hooded carriage and climbed on board. They could feel a jolt on board as the carriage made its move forward.

Their mission was about to begin.

**End of Act II**


	11. Chapter 11

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

**ACT III**

* * *

CHAPTER 11

North of The Neck

Eleven miles north of Charles Town

South Carolina

Late evening

Ben, Walter, and Brady were assembled together on top of a slightly large parapet during a downpour showering, observing a British encampment. Ben peered through his telescope to survey movement of the camp. A convoy was passing the squad by, heading into the camp itself, unaware of their presence. The squad decided to wait out the convoy.

The sky was clouded with heavy overcast. The three young men were half-soaked to the skin, but their gallant stoicism allowed for them to put up with being exposed to the inclement weather. They found, much to their silent chagrin, that the steadily dripping water from their tricorn hats was slightly obscuring their vision.

Ben, Walter, and Brady were painfully aware of the fact that in order to get past the British defenses that lay between them and Charles Town, and even into Charles Town itself, they would have to disguise themselves as British troops and work the disguise. But first they would have to acquire British uniforms.

Ben retracted his telescope and stuffed it into the interior pocket of his uniform waistcoat. "All right. Let's go," he ordered his squad.

"Right behind you, Sergeant," said Walter.

Bracing themselves, the squad members shouldered their firearms and quietly headed down the parapet. Readying their pistols, they cocked back the flintlock.

The squad observed four redcoats conversing with each other near a tent at the edge of the camp. Their cloaks helped them cope to a certain extent with the weather during guard duty. A few seconds later, two of the soldiers quietly left the scene, leaving the other two, who were now idling by. The squad's golden opportunity arrived when those two redcoats were now isolated.

"They're now alone," Walter whispered to Ben. "Now's our chance to strike!"

Ben silently nodded his head in agreement. He and Walter proceeded to sneak up on them. They inched closer and closer, pulling out their small knives. Ben assigned Walter the soldier on his right-hand side, and he assigned himself the soldier on his left.

The backs of those redcoats were directly facing them, rendering them unaware of their presence. This provided both Ben and Walter the opportunity to stealth-kill them with little to no resistance from them, and without alerting other troops in the camp.

When Ben and Walter were within range, they proceeded to strike the redcoats like vultures striking their prey. First they encircled their left arms around the soldiers' necks, right at the very same time, and then gripped their faces with their hands to muffle the regulars to prevent them from squealing. Then they plunged their small knives into the backs of their necks. The two redcoats were now dead.

Ben signaled Brady, who was nearby, to hurry over to where he and Walter were right now. Immediately Brady joined up with the squad.

"Brady, head inside this tent," Ben ordered quietly. "Make sure it's clear,"

"Aye, sir," Brady answered.

Brady proceeded with his task. He shouldered his musket and pulled out a pistol, cocked it, and kept it at the ready. Ben and Walter hauled the dead British regulars on their shoulders, wrapping their cloaks on their bodies, and hoisted them up on their backs.

A regular inside the tent instantly ambushed Brady, almost catching him off-guard. Ben and Walter hurried over inside the tent with the bodies and irreverently dumped them on the floor. Brady would have been killed had Ben not immediately intervened by trying to seize the struggling redcoat. Walter used the butt of his musket to continuously strike the redcoat's face. The concussive forces too severe, the redcoat is finally clobbered to death.

Ben immediately hurried over to Brady to check on him. "Brady?!" he cried. He took notice of the fact that Brady was a little unconscious. "Brady, wake the hell up!" he cried, shaking him vigorously. "Are you all right, boy?"

Brady was still recovering from his struggle with the British regular. He was dazed. "Aye…aye, Sergeant," he said, with a nod of his head.

"Thank God," he sighed in sheer relief. It was a close one for Brady; one that would have resulted in him ending up dead before the mission could even begin. Taking a deep breath, he turned to his squad to issue further orders.

"Take off your uniforms," he ordered his squad.

Walter and Brady immediately did so, with Ben doing the same. It was a temporary relief, as well as an excellent excuse, to get out of these soaked Continental dress uniforms.

"We'll have to apply strips of cloth on the necks of their bodies," said Ben.

"Why?" asked Brady, panting.

"We don't want blood seeping into the uniforms when we take 'em off their skins," Ben answered.

"Makes sense," Walter had to agree. "Fortunately for us, it'll be the neck we'll concern ourselves with."

"I'm…not quite sure how to go about it…sir," said Brady.

"I'll show you while I work on…him," said Ben, pointing to the dead regular lying to his left face-flat before facing Walter. "Walter, you'll be our lookout."

Ben and Walter immediately set themselves to work on prying the uniforms off the dead British regulars.

"Brady," Ben called. "Transfer the disassembled parts of our crossbow to a haversack belonging to one of the dead regulars."

"Aye, sir," Brady answered. "But what if the ask what's inside the haversack?"

"If they ask, you can tell 'em it's souvenirs from the Colonies," said Ben.

Brady immediately got to work with transferring the crossbow parts to a British regular haversack. At that point, Ben was eyeing the haversack a little more carefully. Out of sheer anxiety he put his hand to his head. Walter was beginning to take notice of Ben's state of anxiety.

"What's up, Sergeant?" asked Walter.

Ben immediately faced Walter. "They'll ask us what regiment we're in," he said anxiously. "If we can't remember quickly they'll suspect us as imposters."

"I don't know," said Walter, trying to focus on his watch duty. "They'll probably suspect us as imposters sooner or later, even in these uniforms."

"It will buy us some time…and perhaps a transport to Charles Town," said Ben. He observed the pack. "Do you know what 'X-L-I-X' means?" he asked his squad members.

"Haven't the slightest," Walter answered rather hastily in a tense manner. "And I'm too damn busy on watch duty. Ask Brady. He's fairly good with numerals."

Ben wasted no time taking Walter's advice. "Brady," he called.

Brady immediately looked up. "Aye, what's up, Sergeant?" he responded.

"What do the numerals mean on the haversack?" asked Ben.

Brady was struggling to think. "Umm…" he only answered.

"Think fast!" said Ben. "We don't have a lot of time on our hands. Our necks will depend on us learning the number of the regiment this soldier's haversack belongs to."

"It will take a while, sir," said Brady. "I have to calculate in my head; I've never came across numerals beyond the number thirty."

Ben managed to pry one British uniform off the dead redcoat. The uniform was slightly damp, but it was comparatively a little more drier than the previous uniform he was wearing. Walter and Brady had the same situation as well.

By the time their work of changing into new uniforms was nearly done, a British regular on patrol from a distance shifted his eyes to the tent where the entire Fifth Regiment squad was in.

"Ben, Brady, you might want to hurry up," Walter informed the squad with alarm. "A regular seems to be taking in our scenery."

"Brady! What's your progress?" Ben called.

"I've nearly got it," answered Brady, as he finished with buttoning up his new uniform.

"In addition to that…the numerals?" Ben asked rather frantically, caring more about what the haversack numerals meant in addition to how Brady was putting on his uniform.

"I think…it's…it's…" Brady sputtered with uncertainty.

"Spit it out, man!" Ben cried.

"It could be…sixty-nine…aye, that's correct," said Brady. "Sixty-nine."

"However the hell did you remember it, Brady?" Walter asked him.

"'Cause 'L' is fifty. And 'X' is ten. Makes it sixty," Brady answered in haste. "And 'IX' is nine. Added together…"

Ben managed to finish donning on the new uniform while Brady explained his newfound mathematical finds.

"…Sixty-nine," Brady finished.

"Good man, Brady," Ben complimented the young private as he straightened up his own coat.

Brady finished buttoning his waistcoat. "There," he said. "How do I look?"

"Good as new," said Ben.

"You're gonna have to think of something to tell your wife and family when you join the redcoats," Walter remarked with an air of humorous sarcasm.

"Shut up, Walter," said Ben, not caring much about Walter's humor at this point. "I'm not looking to have Brady become the next Benedict Arnold. One is bad enough already."

"Aren't we going to dress those dead regulars in our previous uniforms, Sergeant?" Walter asked his superior a mite nervously. There was reason to be concerned about their previous uniforms being discovered inside the tent; at the very least, dressing up the dead British regulars in the uniforms of the Continental Army would make them look like they turned traitor to England.

"Unfortunately, no," said Ben. "He's already coming. Hide our army uniforms under the mattress and grab the regulars' weapons. And cover up the bodies."

"You've got it, sir," said Walter. He and Brady immediately seized their Continental Army uniforms, including Ben's, inside a mattress. Then they hurriedly hoisted the three dead regulars and dumped them on top of the mattress in a very irreverent manner and covered them with a blanket.

"Don't worry," Ben assured them. "If they get discovered, the redcoats will think that they were traitors to their mother country 'cause their uniforms are beside them…hidden."

"If ever," said Walter.

"All set?" Ben asked his squad.

"Ready," said Walter.

"Aye, sir," Brady answered.

Stepping out of the tent, the three young men, now completely in disguise, shouldered the Land Pattern firearms that the dead British regulars previously used. Then they donned on the rain cloaks. A few seconds later a convoy was passing by. It did not take long for their presence to attract the attention of a British regiment officer on horseback.

"You! Boys!" hollered the officer.

Ben, Walter, and Brady immediately stood at attention outside the tent.

"What…is your name?" demanded the officer brusquely.

"I'm Private Horace Green, and these two are…Dan Markham and Peter Woolsworth," Ben answered rather briskly. "They're with my company, sir."

"What regiment are you part of?" asked the officer.

Ben had to remember quickly the regiment number on the pack he was carrying. It was LXIX, the Roman numeral for sixty-nine.

"We're with the sixty-ninth Foot, sir," said Ben.

"Well…the sixty-ninth Foot is being recalled back to Charles Town," the officer informed Ben in a brusque manner. "Come along."

"Will do, sir," Ben answered formally and immediately.

Ben, Walter, and Brady hopped on the covered wagon of the convoy bound for Charles Town. Inside there were regulars seated together, resting their Land Pattern muskets vertically with the butts planted firmly on the wooden floor. The driver pulls the reins and the horses start moving. There was a little jolt before the wagon starts moving along with the horses.

Ben and Walter seated themselves at the left-hand side of the bandwagon from the rear, while Brady seated himself at the other side of the bandwagon. Essentially they were seated near the rear of the bandwagon itself. And they all do this as casually as possible. Because of some slight room issues, and to keep their muskets from hitting each other, all the infantrymen held their muskets bear barrels' end, with the musket butts firmly planted on the rough wooden floor, which had seen its share of scratches and mud stains.

The overall mood surrounding the British infantrymen was pretty relaxed but the infantrymen were sober enough to warrant a sense of alertness. As far as everyone was concerned, they were all comrades-in-arms, and they suffered their fair share of injuries, or would be doing so soon.

For Ben, Walter, and Brady, however, the air was filled with a sense of tension. Even in the enemy's uniform, they could not be fully part of the comradeship and camaraderie of the British troops. They had to stay fully alert and keep their eyes peeled for anything or anyone who could have the potential to give each other away, compromising both the squad and the mission at hand.

For them, it just didn't feel right; with the uniform and all. There was still the conscious reminder of everything they had on them and around their being still the property of the enemy, which impeded their ability to fully experience a sense of initiation in the group, which certainly wouldn't help if one of the soldiers tried to start up a conversation with them should they be suspected as newcomers out of the ordinary. Stoically they clutched their muskets at barrels' end, just like the rest of the other troops and kept themselves poised for anything, boots firmly planted on the floor.

Ben was beginning to take notice of Brady, who appeared to be shaking all around him from the nervousness he was experiencing.

"Brady. Calm it," Ben ordered.

"Aye, sir," said Brady. "But…"

Ben interrupted Brady through ordering him to silence himself by subtly raising his right hand. Brady keeps silent.

The bandwagon rolled on to Charles Town.

* * *

Author's Notes:

The 69th Regiment (a.k.a. 69th Regiment of Foot) was…perhaps…an actual infantry unit of the British Army involved in the American War for Independence. According to an article from Wikipedia, it's…sort of implied…that the 69th Regiment saw action in Charles Town.

However, if any student in history or historian has any objections to this, you're more than welcome to leave a comment.

Occurrences in this chapter and in the next chapters to come were derived from a mission in a video game _Call of Duty: Black Ops_, titled _Executive Orders_. The title of this work was also derived from the title _Executive Orders_ as well.


	12. Chapter 12

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 12

The bandwagon started shuddering with a gradual jolt, which seemed to have been more than enough to stir the troops from their boredom. The back covering was removed by a British officer.

Ben, Walter, and Brady were the very first men to scramble out of the bandwagon. The rest of the redcoat troops followed suit when stepping outside. The rain still continued, except in light showers. The sky was almost reaching night, presenting a rather gloomy atmosphere. In nearly half an hour, it would be nightfall.

The squad was now in Charles Town. At present, and according to what Captain Howell had mentioned to them during the briefing, Charles Town was occupied by the British a year ago, and at present, still occupied by the British now. Ben estimated that it would take them about a half-hour to navigate their way through the town itself to locate the Charles Town docks.

"Now what?" Walter asked his superior almost immediately.

"Well…according to the last time I was here, I think we move…that way," Ben answered pointing his finger to the south end of Charles Town's main street. "Let's move out."

The squad immediately followed Ben's lead. Brady leaned closer to Ben, with the intention of confiding something to his superior.

"'Last time you were here'"? Brady asked Ben rather curiously.

"Aye," Ben answered.

"What were you doing in Charles Town, then, Sergeant?" Brady inquired Ben rather anxiously.

"Hush!" Walter warned Brady. "He'll talk about that later. Come on. We'll make our heading through Queen Street. It's where Captain Howell said that be where Colonel Cooke's house is."

Ben led his squad through Queen Street. The passage through Queen Street would be a pretty straightforward route to the Charles Town harbor. There were several shops alongside the street.

From the looks of it, the town looked like life was going on, save for the redcoat occupation. A handful of armed redcoats patrolled the street. Citizens hurried and slogged through the rain. The dirt streets were quite muddy, due to the rain. A horse carriage sped them by and almost sloshed mud on them. It was a close call, since there were only a few but very small mud spatters at the lower end of their uniforms.

"Sergeant, I can't help but notice that something about this place is putting you on edge," said Walter.

Ben laughed. "Aside from the redcoats, what else is putting me on edge, Walter…I mean, 'Mr. Markham'?" he asked.

It seemed that something was beginning to dawn on Walter. "Hang on," he said. "You mentioned sometime back in '79 that you and a native-born Charles Town resident John Herring were involved in a heist for the local government treasury."

"Hush!" cried Ben.

"Sorry, sir," Walter immediately apologized.

"Indeed I was…Mr. Markham," Ben replied quietly to Walter. "Frankly I don't like talking about it. Especially not here."

Ben passes the street that he used to take during the failed heist in Charles Town regarding the filching of the local government treasury. Two years ago, Ben was assigned to filch the governor's treasury in the Charles Town seat to fund the war effort against the British. Ben was accompanied by a Fifth Regimenter named John Herring, who was a native of Charles Town. Because he was a native of Charles Town, he was assigned to assist Ben with the assignment since he would know the place intimately. However, both Ben and Herring had extraordinarily serious issues with each other that bordered on bitterness, particularly when Herring let Felicity think that Ben had died while in the field of duty when Ben was actually still alive.

Ben and Herring had successfully filched the treasury money, which was in hard currency collected and stored in a huge wooden coffer that was ornately decorated. Ben was commandeering the horse-drawn carriage while Herring was inside the carriage itself, guarding the treasury money with his life. The British were on their heels.

British dragoons were already closing in on them. Because Herring was a pain in the ass, and because of the bitter history with him, Ben decided to cut away the horses from the carriage, leaving Herring to his fate. As for the treasury money, it just wasn't worth being captured and held prisoner, and worse, being tortured for information on the Fifth Regiment.

"I cannot believe we forgot to mention the history of your heist to Captain Howell," Walter whispered to Ben. "Surely he would have found a way to make sure you were less recognized in this town."

"Frankly, I'm not sure there would be much that Captain Howell could do here," Ben said quietly. "I guess he assumed that we were just as white as everyone else in the British army." Because they were light-skinned as the British were they would stand out less even in disguise.

"After all, we…" interjected Brady in a whisper.

"Don't say "we", Brady…I mean, Mr. Woolsworth!" cried Walter, in hushed tone. "We'll be suspect!"

"Sorry, sir," Brady replied rather nervously. "What I meant was…um…I mean, the colonists are still British, even though they are rebelling against England."

"That may be," Ben had to agree. "I guess being white and English gives us…I mean, the colonists, an advantage here, both in society as well as behind the enemy lines."

The squad was making their attempt to locate Colonel Cooke's house.

"I hate to admit it, Sergeant, but we haven't the slightest idea what Colonel Cooke's house looks like," said Walter.

"Might I propose asking one of the locals where it is?" asked Brady.

Ben thought about Walter's proposal for a moment.

"All right," said Ben. "But remember, I'm suspecting some of the locals will either be too intimidated from answering or they'll give you looks. Remember, you're still…" he leaned closer to both Walter and Brady. "…In disguise, so you _cannot_ confide to them that you're on the rebel side."

"Aye, sir," replied Walter.

Brady swallowed. "Aye, sir," he answered.

Walter and Brady began to look around for at least one local. They managed to spot a girl who was still in her teens. She was carrying a parasol to shield herself from the light rain.

"There's a girl," said Walter, pointing at her. "We can intimidate her a little easily." He started calling out to her. "Oi! Miss!" he shouted.

The girl immediately stared at Walter.

"Aye, you!" said Walter. "We want a word. With _you_."

Feeling quite intimidated, the girl cautiously made her approach to the two Fifth Regiment boys in disguise.

"What do you two gentlemen want from me?" she asked them rather cautiously. Her voice was both quiet and timid.

Walter cleared his throat quickly while making sure that his musket was secure on his right shoulder. "What's your name, Miss?" Walter asked the girl in a friendly manner.

"I'm Mary," the girl replied. "Mary…Sutton."

"All right, then, Miss Mary," said Walter, acknowledging her name. "Can you tell us about the whereabouts of a house owned by a…a Colonel Matthias Cooke?"

"Begging your pardon, sir, but I won't," said Mary. "I shall never cooperate with you in any way."

"We're assigned to help guard his daughter," said Walter, trying to act sympathetic toward the girl.

"You?" the girl asked Walter crossly. "I should have known. Miss Susanna is my best friend. Why should I help you if I know you're going to keep her prisoner in her own house?"

"We're going to make sure she comes to no harm, Miss," Walter promised her.

The girl exhibited an anxious countenance in her face. "Can I have your word on that?" she asked of Walter quite bluntly.

Walter smiled charmingly. "Aye, Miss," he answered.

The girl took a deep breath. "Miss Susanna's house is only a couple of houses…this way." She turned around and pointed her finger forward. Walter observed her finger-pointing.

"Where?" asked Walter.

"Two houses down, where I am…right now," the girl answered him. "It's…the green one."

Walter studied the scenery as he counted two houses down. He began to take notice of a house that was painted in the color of emerald green.

Slowly Walter began to notice the parasol she was carrying. "What I would give just to have one of those things to shield us from the rain," he said rather wistfully.

"Well…um…I'm afraid there's only room for…one," replied the girl.

"Anyway, thanks, Miss," said Walter.

The girl curtsied to the two boys before taking her leave.

"We'll keep her safe. That we'll do…" Walter said to himself.

Walter and Brady wasted no time in following the girl's directions. Sure enough, they found the house and started surveying it. Just as the girl said, it was green, and an emerald green at that. The house was three stories high, with a balcony perching on the third story itself.

As Walter and Brady strolled through Queen Street, they started counting houses alongside their left after Colonel Cooke's house. Much of the time it was Walter muttering the count.

"One…two…three…four…five…," Walter muttered to himself.

"Walter, stop," said Brady. "We've reached the edge of Queen Street."

Walter immediately got back to his senses. He found that he and Brady had indeed reached the end of Queen Street.

"Look for a street sign," commanded Walter.

Brady started scanning the busy street of Charles Town, searching for some sign. At last his eyes spotted a wooden signpost at the right-hand corner of Queen Street, from where he and Walter were.

"I found it," said Brady. "The street across us…is King Street."

"Really?" asked Walter.

"That street sign across to the right of us says so," said Brady. "Look."

Walter followed Brady's direction of finger-pointing. His own eyes confirmed it. It was indeed King Street ahead of them.

"Bra-_vo_," Walter commended proudly to Brady. "Ben's gonna be _thrilled_."

Walter and Brady headed the opposite direction on Queen Street. They both maintained a steady pace, as to make it look as if they were walking casually until they reached the area where Ben was.

"Well?" Ben asked his squad.

"We got it, sir," answered Walter. "Colonel Cooke's house is right around the middle of Queen Street. We counted five houses after that…before reaching King Street."

"Hmm…I'll need to see for myself," said Ben.

"As you wish, Sergeant," said Walter.

The entire squad wended their way alongside Queen Street in a casual manner. With Ben he could not help but satisfy his curiosity of this part of the town by looking around. It did not take long for Walter to lead Ben to the place of Colonel Cooke's residence.

"This…is it," said Walter.

"I see…" Ben said to himself, observing the entire structure before facing Walter. "Who did you ask?"

"One of the locals, sir," said Brady.

"A girl…by the name of Miss Mary Sutton," Walter put forth. "Told us she was a friend of hers."

"You didn't intimidate her, did you?" asked Ben.

Walter remembered the point where he shouted at her to get her attention. "Um…kind of," he admitted quietly. "But not too much."

Ben considered Walter's response for a brief moment. It was as though Walter was simply taking a few creative liberties with his squad orders, which any officer aside from him would take as a response of insubordination. But so long as Walter had not fouled up the operation in any significant way, whatever Walter did with the girl did not seem to be worth fretting over.

"All right, gentlemen," he said. "You did very well. We'll cut across King Street. From there, it's a straightforward route to the harbor."

* * *

The squad finally reached Charles Town harbor. By that time, nightfall had already reached its course. The dark rainy clouds loomed across the sky as nature kept up its continuous rainy weather.

"This is the place," said Ben.

"Aye," agreed Walter. "But…there's no _India_ or _Archer_ around the harbor."

"We haven't looked around hard enough…yet," said Ben. He turned to face his squad. "Spread out," he whispered in a discreet manner. "Look for anything resembling a ship's name on any of their rear ends."

"Sir, if I may interject…" Walter put forth.

"Oh, for God's sake, what is it, Walter?" Ben asked him in exasperation.

"With all due respect, Sergeant, I think spreading out is a terrible idea," Walter tried to advise Ben. "We're not likely to communicate with each other if we find a ship."

But we'll all get captured together," Ben warned him.

"Aye," said Walter. "But…we risk suspicion by the redcoats if we have to resort to signaling with our own hands."

Ben had to take Walter's way of thinking into consideration. He began to weigh the options. Either he could insist with the squad going with his way, which would be a mite easier, considering his superiority in rank, and risk his squad getting captured by the British altogether, or he could go with Walter's proposal, which would lessen that risk. By far, being captured altogether by the British was not something he was looking forward to. Better for a few members of a Fifth Regiment squad to face captured than to have all of a squad get captured.

"All right, Walter," said Ben. "You have a point. We'll go together, then, marching alongside like we're on patrol duty. You'll look around the docks for any sign of the ships."

"Aye, sir," said Walter.

The squad members started simulating patrol duty. As they performed their own little act, they passed by people rushing across the street, struggling to keep themselves dry, as well as a handful of armed redcoats on duty.

It did not take long for something to attract the attention of the Fifth Regiment squad. One redcoat officer was hollering orders to handful of regulars.

"…And let's have the ammunition and the guns stowed on board the _India_," the officer ordered.

"Sir, the _India's_ almost full to capacity," pointed out one regular. "And given that we're transporting over four hundred troops…"

"Then stow the rest of the men on the _Archer_," said the officer. "Any remaining ammunition will go on the _Longhorn_. We're transferring troops, not artillery."

"Very good, sir," acknowledged the regular.

Brady immediately faced Ben. "Sergeant…did you hear that?" he asked his commanding officer half-discreetly.

Ben had the officer and his redcoat regulars in sight. The regulars were crossing a gangplank. He and his squad steadily passed by the ship that they witnessed the redcoats de-boarding.

The name of the ship gradually emerged from the back of the stern. It was the _India._

"We've found one of our ships," said Ben.

The squad resumed their patrol walk, eyeing the next ship docked behind the newly found _India_. Soon enough, the next name to emerge from the rear of the other ship's stern was the _Archer_.

"Eu-_re_-ka," Ben whispered to himself in relief.

"Frigates, by the looks of them," said Walter. "Triple-decker. I dare say Captain Howell's intelligence would be accurate."

"How the hell did you identify that kind of ships they were, Walter?" Brady inquired Walter rather curiously.

"I looked up a chart, is what," Walter answered, looking at Brady in a queer sort of way.

"Oh…" Brady said quietly.

Ben took a deep breath with an air of finality. The time had now come to relay the plan to his squad.


	13. Chapter 13

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 13

Ben made a careful check on his surroundings made sure that he and his squad were out of range from anyone who could overhear them. Fortunately, the pitter-patter of raindrops slightly muffled their talks.

"All right," Ben whispered to his squad, especially to Walter. "Here's the plan. Brady and I will board the _India_ while _you_ take on the _Archer_."

"You sure we can't do it all together, Sergeant?" asked Walter.

"It would be faster if we did it all at the same time," said Ben.

"Seems pretty reasonable, the splitting," said Walter. "But I don't seem to find myself splitting from you reasonable. We accomplished missions before together…didn't we…?"

Ben looked back at Brady. Ever since he joined up with the Fifth Regiment, Brady had been known to be almost dependent on his squad leader. The fact that seemed to be in short supply of being able to think outside the box was something that warranted him being with his squad leader in order to avoid fouling up the mission. Also he seemed to have a tendency to become nervous in some tense situations.

"Walter, you have no problem handling yourself on your own for a bit," said Ben. "Brady…would let his nervousness get the better of him. Besides…you know how to rig the gunpowder barrels all on your own…Right?"

Walter shrugged his shoulders. But then he needed to show his superior that he had, at the very least, an air of confidence within himself. "Of course, Sergeant," he answered.

"However, should you lack the confidence, I'll be in favor of going together," Ben mentioned.

Walter gave some manner of thought about Ben's offer. It certainly would have been easier for him to just simply go along with Ben's proposal. But the back of his mind was constantly telling him in its own little way that it would not be in the best interests of the squad; that it would lead to the capture of all three squad members should they all be caught in the act together. Separation would at least guarantee that one squad member would make his own getaway.

"I think I can handle it all on my own, sir," said Ben. "You can count on me."

Ben slapped Walter's left shoulder as a gesture of camaraderie. "Good man, Walter," he complimented. "That'll leave…Brady with me."

Ben was about to proceed with his plan when Walter held his superior back a bit.

"Beg pardon, sir, but what will we do if we encounter hostile resistance?" asked Walter.

"Well…let's hope that it keeps raining all night," said Ben, looking up at the sky. He let the rain wash his face.

"Why the rain…sir?" asked Brady.

Ben immediately faced Brady. "The redcoats will not be able to fire their weapons at all, since the rain will douse the priming powder on their guns," he answered him in a whisper. "The flintlock mechanism will _not_ be able to ignite a spark to explode the gunpowder."

"But that will mean _we_ won't be able to fire our weapons, too," Walter point out. "Any last resorts?"

"Old-fashioned hand-to-hand combat…if the redcoats get too near to us, or if we're in closed quarters and they do happen to get near us," Ben answered tersely.

Shouldering his rifle, Ben decided it was time to get on with the task. With Brady following his lead, Ben set foot on the wooden gangplank leading to the _India._ He looked back at Walter, who was on his way to boarding the Archer.

As Ben and Brady crossed the gangplank to the _India _they could literally feel the gangplank itself creaking under their heels. Their slight nervousness was justified, as it was their very first time in boarding a ship.

It did not take long for Ben and Brady to come across an armed guard, who was standing stoically at the ship's entrance at the left-hand side of the gangplank from where the two-man squad was facing. The guard just simply stared cautiously at them, before nodding his head, indicating his approval for both Ben and Brady to come on board.

Walter took a deep breath as he stood at the edge of the dock, near the gangplank leading to the _Archer_. It was as if he was at the edge of a precipice, waiting to dive into the realm of risk and untold, devastating consequences that would befall him if he was caught in the act. That being the case, it would have been tempting for him to turn back.

But he knew his duty to the Fifth Regiment; a duty that every member must perform to the utmost degree to ensure that Washington's Army would have the upper hand against the British, which would mean freedom from British rule. And he knew that Ben had entrusted him the task of taking on the Archer alone.

Shouldering his musket, he crossed the gangplank at a steady pace. Very soon he came across an armed redcoat guard. The guard, taking notice of the notion that he was of their own kind, beckoned him to come on board the ship.

* * *

Ben and Brady quietly but desperately began their search for the holding door. It was their first time since they were on board a ship. The _India's_ bow was to their left relative to where they stepped off the gangplank while boarding the ship. The sound of rain splattering the wooden deck was quite loud.

The two-man squad struggled in the dark of the rainy night to find even anything resembling a door to a lower deck. Calmly they wended their way across the deck, going in a right direction from where Ben and Brady stepped off the gangplank. Pretty soon they came across the silhouette form of a square box. Brady was the first to point out that shape to Ben, who, at this point, decided to go along with his silent directional pointing. The box turned out to be the roof of a ship's lower-level deck entrance, with the door facing the obscured shape of a mast at the center of the ship itself. Ben was the first to open the door, and he and Brady immediately stepped inside.

The inside revealed a fairly steep stairway, which led into a wooden cavern-like area appearing like a slightly illuminated void. Carefully and quietly the squad proceeded downstairs. Soon they were now inside, on the first lower level. Its interior was illuminated a little by lit candle lanterns. The guns were completely stowed, and the hatches sealed.

"Hopefully Walter's had the same luck we've had so far," Ben muttered to himself before facing Brady. "Load your musket," he whispered. "Quietly."

Aye, sir," Brady acknowledged, shaking from the cold.

Ben and Brady quietly loaded their Land Pattern muskets. They shouldered them, so as to look like they were on guard duty. As they quietly sauntered through the first gun deck, they could feel the ship swaying by a slight.

"Careful now," Ben said to Brady. "And mind that you don't get seasick on me."

"I'll try not to, sir," said Brady.

Ben and Brady resumed traversing through the first lower-level gun deck until they reached a stairwell leading downstairs. Taking firm grips on the stairway handles, they quietly headed downstairs, one step at a time.

When both the young men reached the second-level gun deck, Ben tried to locate another stairwell leading to the next level. Fortunately, he was in luck; another stairwell traveling in a downstairs direction was only a few feet nearby.

"Powder magazine should be at the last deck," Ben whispered to Brady.

Ben and Brady quietly and cautiously headed down the next stairwell until they reached the third lower-level gun deck.

* * *

Meanwhile, Walter made his heading downstairs toward the third lower level. The entire lower level was illuminated by candle lanterns. Across the deck, he could see a neat lineup of guns completely stowed on board, and the hatches closed. He could also hear the rain hit the outside of the ship at all sides. Added with the unsettling silence and the sounds of his breathing, it was one eerie environment to be in.

A redcoat regular was present on the gun deck, concentrating diligently on patrol duty. Walter shouldered his musket and calmly strolled across the deck as he made his casual-like approach to the guard.

"Sir," he called out.

The redcoat guard immediately faced Walter in disguise. "What is it?" he responded.

"The captain has assigned me to take over guard duty," Walter told the guard.

"He has?" the redcoat guard asked Walter rather naively.

"Aye," Walter answered him. "You can take a break now."

"Of course, sir," the redcoat acknowledged.

The redcoat casually took his leave. Walter was rather surprised, but at the same time, thankful that the redcoat bought his excuse to make him leave the gun deck.

* * *

Much to their silent disappointment and chagrin, Ben and Brady discovered that the _India's_ powder magazine was physically secured with a wrapped chain link, which was then secured by a locked padlock holding a couple of ends of the chain link in place.

"We're doomed," said Brady.

"Not quite," said Ben.

Both Ben and Brady slid off their haversacks. From his haversack Ben carefully and quietly took out his powder horn. After opening the cap, he was fairly careful to pour a small amount of gunpowder directly into the padlock's keyhole. His internal nervousness nearly got the better of him, which caused him to shake the powder horn a little, but he was able to pour the powder into the keyhole before he put the cap back on the horn.

"Brady. You've got rope?" asked Ben.

"Aye, sir," answered Brady.

"Pick a small piece off of it," Ben demanded quickly.

Brady brought out some small rope. He then used his knife to cut it, and handed over the piece to Ben. Ben inserted one end of the piece of rope into the padlock keyhole.

"We'll need something to ignite the rope, sir," Brady pointed out.

"Right," Ben agreed.

Ben quietly pulled out his pistol and cocked it. Because there was no way for him to completely unload the pistol of its bullet, he concluded that he would have to take a chance in letting his discharged shot be heard. He positioned the flintlock close to the rope as carefully as he could. Then he took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. The bullet impacted the wooden floor.

However, the action of the flintlock mechanism ignited the rope, converting it into a steady fuse. The fuse inched closer and closer to the gunpowder sitting in the padlock keyhole. In a few seconds the fuse came in contact with the powder, creating a mini explosion. The force of the explosion was enough to damage the lock itself. Ben carefully removed the damaged lock from the door and unravels the chain. The powder magazine was now accessible.

"I hope Walter has the same luck we have with the _Archer's_ magazine," Ben said to himself.

* * *

Walter discovered to his chagrin that the gunpowder magazine room on the _Archer's_ third lower-level gun deck was physically secured with a wrapped chain link. The chain link was then secured by a locked padlock.

He took off his haversack and set it on his left-hand side. Taking out his powder horn, he gingerly poured gunpowder into the padlock keyhole. Rummaging through his haversack, he fished out some relatively thin rope. Using his knife he cut a little piece of the rope off the set and shoved one end into the powder-filled padlock hole. Then he whipped out his pistol and carefully positioned the flintlock near the rope.

Unfortunately he found himself having second thoughts. To his dismay it dawned on him that his pistol was actually loaded, which meant that if he fired his shot, the loaded bullet in his pistol would impact the wooden floor, generating some measure of noise. But he knew that it would be twice as difficult to unload the pistol of its bullet, so he would have to take that chance if he hoped to gain access to the powder magazine quickly.

Making sure that no one else is in sight, he fired his shot. The bullet impacted the floor, but the flintlock ignited the rope, converting it into a steady fuse, which inched closer and closer to the gunpowder. The fuse detonated the powder, creating a small explosion which damaged the padlock itself. Walter carefully and quietly removed the padlock and unraveled the chain link. The _Archer's_ powder magazine was now finally accessible to him.

* * *

Ben and Brady immediately set themselves to work on rearranging the gunpowder barrels in the _India's_ powder magazine. A total of about fifty barrels were stowed in the room. They did this a little quietly, but as quietly as they could without attracting a whole lot of attention from above deck.

* * *

Walter was standing at the corner, silently counting the number of barrels in the powder hold. The barrels totaled to around sixty.

Because he was the only one by himself working on the arrangement, he decided that at least three barrels, positioned close to the other barrels, and in a way so as to allow a fuse to ignite them, would do the trick.

He set to work on rearranging three gunpowder barrels all by himself. And the barrels were indeed quite heavy.

* * *

"All right, Brady, now's the time to bring out the good ol' rope," Ben said to him.

Brady fished through his haversack and managed to pull out some relatively thin rope.

"Got it, sir," said Brady.

Ben grabbed the rope and began unwinding part of it, with Brady holding the other end of the rope to keep it relatively straight and flat.

"Attach one end of the rope to the barrel nearest you," Ben whispered to him.

Brady carefully notched his end of the rope to the top of the barrel nearest him, which was stacked near the other barrels. Having to perform this fairly meticulous task was quite challenging, due to the possibility of accidentally igniting the exposed powder. It took a while for him to carefully insert the rope into the powder-like layer of the gunpowder.

When Brady was finished, Ben loaded his pistol with gunpowder only. He positioned the flintlock near the other end of the rope and fires. This time there was no bullet to impact the floor, as Ben loaded the pistol with the gunpowder only. The rope was now lit.

* * *

Walter suddenly paused whatever he was doing with laying the rope. It was at this point where he was starting to hear the slight sounds of footsteps above the ceiling. These sounds seemed to be steady. He tried to trace where its sounds were going.

Struggling inwardly to maintain his cool, he proceeded to unwind the rope that he would use for lighting the fuse. When that part of the task was completed, he loaded his pistol with powder only and lighted the fuse.

* * *

When the fuse was finally lit, Ben and Brady gathered up their tools and stuffed them into their haversacks.

"We've lingered here long enough," said Ben.

Quietly and quickly as possible Ben and Brady exited the gunpowder room. Before leaving, however, Ben wrapped the chain link around the door handles and also utilized the damaged lock to secure the chain link.

"Let's hope Walter remembers to do this…" Ben muttered to himself.

* * *

Right after Walter exited the powder magazine he immediately shut the doors. Then he wrapped the chain link around the door handles.

Then it was at this point that the worst of his fear came to be realized. Right behind Walter was a redcoat staring at his back.

"Oi! What the hell are you doing, sir?" he shouted.

Walter was both tense and nervous upon the imminent possibility of being discovered in his little act of sabotage. "Nothing, sir," he answered loudly with confidence.

"Indeed," said the redcoat. "I intend to know what you're up to."

The redcoat steadily made his approach toward the powder magazine. It was at this point that Walter started taking keen notice of him. To Walter's silent horror, he discovered that the redcoat was an actual army officer, and he was armed.

"Something is amiss," said the officer.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" asked Walter.

The officer cast a stern glare at him. "The lock to the powder magazine is far from intact," he informed sternly. "Look, man!"

At the officer's order Walter cast his eyes on the padlock. In external appearances the padlock did not look damaged, even though its internal mechanism was. But the fact that the officer noticed that the padlock was not actually securing the chain link led him to become suspicious of whatever Walter was doing near the powder magazine, if not inside the magazine itself. After all, who else was the last to be spotted near the powder magazine?

"Oh…," said Walter.

Redcoat Officer looked at Walter sternly. "_What_…have you been up to in the powder magazine?" he asked him.

"Who said I was up to something…sir?" asked Walter.

The officer immediately removed the lock and proceeded to unravel the chain. After unraveling the chain link he gripped both the handles of the door leading to the room. Walter decided that he must act fast if he was to prevent the officer from looking into the powder magazine and ruin his plans. And he was not looking forward to going to the trouble of securing the magazine doors with the chain link and damaged padlock again.

He pulled out his pistol, gripping it at barrel's end. Then with one stroke he clubbed him on the head. The officer instantly dropped to the wooden floor, unconscious, with a loud thud.

Walter put back the chain link on the powder magazine door handles and used the damaged lock to secure the chain link. After staring at the unconscious officer briefly, he had the grand idea of self-promoting himself in rank by switching uniforms. He shrugged off his infantry coat, forcibly removed the officer's coat, donned on the infantry coat on the unconscious officer, and clothed the unconscious officer with the uniform waistcoat of a common British infantryman. The entire process was a lot of trouble, given the unconscious state of the officer, but it was better than having him conscious and kicking, thus bringing unwanted attention to Walter's situation at hand. Besides, the officer's uniform waistcoat was a little drier than his infantry coat.

After ensuring that the officer was unconscious and the powder magazine made to look like it was locked, he ignited his lantern. Then he wasted no time in leaving the third lower-level gun deck as he climbed the stairwell.

Using his lantern, he made sure that no other redcoat infantryman or officer was in sight. When there was no one else on the second-level gun deck, he hurried for the next stairwell leading to the last upper gun deck. Then he wended his way across the fairly illuminated upper gun deck until he reached a stair which would lead to the top deck. He could hear the rain beating the outside, and he certainly wasn't looking forward to being wet again. But if he ever hoped to escape, he would have to cope with the inclement weather, so he quietly opened the hatch door.

Walter folded his arms under him, trying to keep himself awake and focusing on how to get off the _Archer_. He was in the midst of this mental task when he heard footsteps headed his way. Turning his head to his left he began to take notice a redcoat private made his approach to him.

Thinking that Walter was an officer, the private immediately saluted to him.

"Sir," he announced. "Private FitzHugh reporting in, sir."

Walter had to act in a very superior manner if he was to get him out of his face. "Private…FitzHugh," Walter acknowledged with an air of confidence in his tone of voice. "You're required on the second deck. I'm ordering the third lower gun deck sealed off, and _you_ are going to assume guard duty on the second deck…immediately. No one is allowed on the third deck…unless the ship's captain is present."

"Aye, sir," the redcoat answered. With that he immediately took his leave of Walter.

Walter immediately headed over to the gangplank and started his little crossing from the _Archer _to the Charles Town ship dock. He seemed to have some qualms about having the ship's captain, assuming that he was present on the ship, make his determined heading to the third lower gun deck, as any ship's captain would be in the best position to literally defuse the situation, which, in turn, would mean that the plan to blow up the _Archer_ would be stopped cold if discovered. However, he seemed to have confidence that the situation would take much longer to resolve because the captain would have to be summoned in person, which would be just enough time to let the fuse complete its course.

* * *

Ben and Brady immediately made their exit from the _India's _third lower level gun deck. They continued climbing the stairwells until they reached the foremost upper deck.

Struggling in the dark and rain they continued wending their way across the upper deck partially illuminated by candle lanterns. Walking as casually as they could past the guards, it didn't take long for them to take notice of the silhoette form of a gangplank entrance. They wasted no time in crossing the gangplank.

Upon completing the crossing the gangplank, Ben looked around for any sign of Walter. Pretty soon Walter emerged from the dark.

"Walter! You made it!" Ben whispered in exclamation.

"It wasn't easy," said Walter. "I had a few guards to contend with."

"Did you prime the gunpowder barrels?" Ben asked quickly.

"Aye, sir," Walter answered briskly.

"…And?" Ben prompted to him.

"Well…I decided having the primer rope a little longer…'cause he thought I would need more time with getting off the ships before they…

KA-BOOM!

The explosions finally took place, with two monstrous fireballs gushing forth from the sterns of the frigates. The first explosion took place on the _India_. The other explosion took place on the _Archer_ after the explosion on the _India_. The dock literally shook under the feet of the Fifth Regimenters with the resounding force of the explosions. Large, wooden pieces of both ships blew off with incredible explosive force. It was such a sight to behold.

"…Explode…" Walter finished, shuddering over the shock of the explosions.

"I see what you mean…" Ben said to Walter.


	14. Chapter 14

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 14

Right after the explosions, both ships slowly started to capsize away from the docks before sinking vertically into the water. Because the docks were quite shallow, the only thing left of the two frigates were their masts, which stood out by a slight above the waters.

Even after the explosion all that could be heard was the moderate downpour of rain. So far, there was silence after that successful blow to British transportation of troops to Yorktown by river. But the whole thing was not yet over, as the British would be upon the Fifth Regimenters soon.

"I think we made enough of a scene today," said Ben, shouldering his Land Pattern Musket. Time we got the hell out of this place."

"I'm with you on that one," agreed Walter. "Which way to Colonel Cooke's house?"

"I think it's on Queen Street, if I recall," Ben answered. "From the South Bay of Charles Town docks, it should be north of us."

"Well, I sure hope your memories of Charles Town pay off in some way," said Walter. "Or we're…

"Quiet! Listen!" cried Brady.

Sounds of soldiers shouting could be heard from behind them. It seemed that the entire town was now on alert.

"…Compromised," Walter finished.

Ben turned around. A handful of British regulars were on their way to the docks where the flaming frigates were. An officer was carrying a lantern.

"Let's go," Ben said quietly.

The entire squad sprinted to the direction of a house located at a block east of Pratt Street. If the Fifth Regimenters could obscure themselves in the dark and rain for a little while, the company of redcoats would eventually give up their search.

But that was not to be the case, as the officer caught site of retreating movement.

"Stop right there!" shouted the officer.

The entire squad managed to take up hiding positions at one side of the house. At the opposite side, the redcoats were still in search of them. The entire ordeal for the Fifth Regiment could be unnerving even for the most steeled of Fifth Regimenters, with fear of getting captured and tortured by the British a constant companion on their side. If that was the case, then the squad would have to be ready to engage the British if they were discovered. Because this was a three-man squad against many redcoats, the squad would have to constantly evade them, but hit them to distract them or slow them down. So Ben decided that at this point, now was the time for his squad to ready their firearms.

"Check your bayonets," Ben ordered quietly.

Ben, Walter, and Brady unsheathed their bayonets and attached them to their muskets at barrels' end. Brady, feeling a mite nervous, made sure that his bayonet was attached to his musket as tightly as he possibly could. It seemed to help him relieve him of his anxiety.

Meanwhile the company of redcoats was still in search for any sign of saboteurs. There was even anxious and frustrated discussion among the company itself over the whereabouts of their phantom intruders and saboteurs.

"I thought I saw something! Or someone!" said one redcoat.

"Be more specific!" the officer demanded. "What did you see, man?"

""I thought I saw to shapes," answered the redcoat. "Maybe three, I guess."

"God!" whispered Walter in reaction. "Do they know we're here?!"

The squad continued to overhear the anxious conversation of the company of redcoats in search of their phantom instruders.

"Well, where did they go?" demanded the officer.

"Up along Pratt Street, I think," said the redcoat.

"Move along, men!" the officer ordered.

Ben managed to catch a glimpse of the Redcoat detachment running in a pretty rapid marching pace to Queen Street.

"Let them pass," Ben whispered quietly.

The sounds of running had fully diminished, giving the squad some form of indication that the redcoat detachment, which most likely was after them, has left. But this was only a fraction of what the Fifth Regiment squad would have to contend with during their escape from British-occupied Charles Town.

"Check your bayonets," Ben ordered quietly.

Walter and Brady made sure their bayonets were secured at barrels' ends of their muskets. Because their flintlock firearms would not be able to fire in the pouring rain, securing their bayonets could mean the difference between life and imminent death by being stabbed by a redcoat.

"We'll be walking along Pratt Street," Ben informed his squad. "Stick close to the houses. Stay alert, and weapons at the ready!"

"What for?" asked Brady. "You said we can't fire them."

"In case we need to stab the bastards at close range," Ben answered bluntly.

* * *

The squad continued to wend their way through Pratt Street. The handful of candle-lit lanterns and lanterns fueled by whale-oil across the street slightly illuminated the streets. This would be both an advantage and a disadvantage to the Fifth Regimenters; the advantage being that the illuminated streets would light the way for their squad, and the disadvantage being that it could allow for the squad to be spotted by the British. If that was the case, then the entire squad would have to obscure themselves in darkened areas as much as possible if they needed to avoid detection by redcoats.

In the meantime, Brady was beginning to find himself shivering a little; so much that his slight ailment was beginning to alarm Ben.

"Brady…are you all right?" Ben whispered.

"Uh…I think so, sir," Brady answered. "Slight shivers is all…"

"We'll get out of this rain soon enough," said Ben. "But I need you to stay focused. Can you do that?"

"I'll try, sir," said Brady.

The squad continued on through Pratt Street, concealing themselves in the dark as much as they could. Ever alert, they kept firm grips on their muskets. It did not take long, however, for Walter to catch their attention.

"Sergeant," Walter whispered. "Patrol."

"Where?" Ben whispered back.

"Up ahead, in front of us," replied Walter.

Ben shielded his eyes from the pouring rain as he struggled to get a glimpse of the patrolling redcoat. He wanted to make sure that it was indeed, a tangible entity and not something he was imagining.

"Permission to take him out?"

"No," said Ben. "We'll act like we're on patrol." He turned to Brady. "Brady, focus. Shoulder your musket and act like a dignified man. We're going on patrol duty."

"Of course, sir," Brady responded to his superior. "But why are we…"

"I'll explain later," Ben interrupted him.

The three squad members shouldered their muskets and made a side-by-side arrangement. On passing by the patrolling regular they walked as casually as they could. The regular simply gave a cursory look at them and simply shrugged his shoulders.

Checking that they were out of earshot, Ben decided to give the short form of his explanation to Brady. "That was a patrolling redcoat," Ben whispered to Brady.

"Ah, I see," Brady answered.

* * *

The nerve-racking journey across British-occupied Charles Town was momentarily interrupted when Ben spotted a redcoat patrol. He raised his right hand to signal his squad to cease their forward movements.

"Halt," Ben ordered quietly.

Shielding his eyes from the rain again, Ben peered through the darkness.

"Patrol up ahead," Ben warned. "We'll head over to King Street instead."

The squad made a turn to King Street. They reached the end of one block. Instinctively Ben fished out his telescope. He spotted a large group of redcoats crossing on one street…Queen Street.

"Patrol again," Ben whispered to his squad. "This way."

Directing his squad to his right-hand side, the Fifth Regimenters made a right at Broad Street. Then they continued on until they reached one end of the housing block.

"We're at one end of the block," Walter informed Ben.

"As I recall, the street to our left will lead us to Queen Street," Ben answered. "It's supposed to be where Colonel Cooke's house is located."

"You sure?" Brady asked anxiously.

Ben took a deep breath. "I think so," he answered.

"You 'think so'?" asked Walter, doubtful about Ben's navigation skills in the dark streets of Charles Town.

"Um…aye," Ben answered.

"You'd better be sure about this, or not only will we be getting lost in this town, but we'll get _caught_," Walter warned his superior sternly. It was not only unconventional but also a mite discourteous for a junior to treat his superior in that manner, but tension was very high over getting captured by the redcoats. There was little margin for error when it came to navigating the streets of British-occupied Charles Town in the pouring rain and the dark of night, with some of the street lanterns sometimes allowing for the possibility of the redcoats to catch sight of them.

"I know this town…fairly well," said Ben. "Remember that I was involved in a failed heist with the governor's treasury. Don't tell anyone else, though. Does that seem bolster your confidence, Walter?"

"It had better," Walter answered.

* * *

The squad finally reached the crossing at Queen Street.

"To our right is supposed to be Colonel Cooke's house," Ben informed his squad.

"We can just barge in and rescue our damsel in distress," said Walter confidently.

Ben nodded his head in agreement with Walter. "Problem is…that house is bound to be heavily occupied," Ben told his squad. "We'd be three against more than a handful. We'll need to use the element of surprise. Besides, if we barge into Colonel Cooke's house, we'd endanger the Colonel's daughter. She'll simply be another casualty of war."

"…If she accidentally gets killed in a fight," Brady finished.

"What do you propose, sir?" Walter asked his superior.

Ben pointed to the house on the opposite side of Colonel Cooke's house. "We can use this house and rope ourselves cross this street and onto that balcony over there," Ben answered.

He pointed to the balcony of Colonel Cooke's house. The eyes of Walter and Brady followed. It was difficult to make out the form of the house in the dark and rain.

"Sounds like a plan," said Walter, looking at Ben. "Let's do it."

Ben, Walter, and Brady sprinted to the front of a house alongside Queen Street. The house was right near in front of the house of Colonel Cooke, located on the edge of an adjacent block.

Wanting to know if he would have to contend with any redcoats at all during entry, Ben took a peak through the window. He could make out at least five British regulars housed inside. And they were all fast asleep.

"Bayonets at the ready," Ben whispered. "We've got five redcoats."

"Sir, wouldn't it make more sense to just simply knock at the door and expect them to courteously let us in?" asked Walter. "We're still in the enemy's uniform after all."

"No," Ben answered Walter in a blunt manner. "I suspect the patrol we encountered at the Charles Town docks is looking for us. If we don't take out those redcoats, we'll be surrounded by their reinforcements if these redcoats inside get wind of our escape attempts…and we'd be forced to surrender. And if these redcoats inside got wind of our plans to rope into Colonel Cooke's house, they'd stop us cold." He took a deep breath. "Besides…we'd be dealing with five less redcoats if we took them out now."

"But beseeching your pardon sir, that patrol may just as well be bringing reinforcements," Walter interjected.

"I think they'll be too busy looking for us to bother," said Ben. "Most of the redcoats in this town…at this time…are sheltering themselves inside the houses…and are already asleep. Besides…even if they were told that there are wolves in sheep's clothing among them…it will take them too much time to convince them of that…and even search every redcoat just to find the three of us."

"You _think_?" asked Walter.

"Walter, it's a chance we'll have to take," Ben declared, deciding to put a stop to this discussion once and for all. He then faced his squad. "Are you up to the task?" he asked them.

"Whatever you say, Sergeant. I'm ready," Walter whispered in reply.

Ben turned to Brady next. "Brady?" Ben called him.

Brady nodded his head. "Ready," he answered.

Readying their muskets, the squad positioned themselves across the doorway, with Walter and Brady lined up on each side of the doorway itself. Then they readied their firearms, bayonets attached. After taking in a deep breath to relieve his tension, Ben forcefully kicked open the door. The violent sound of kicking open the door was enough to stir the redcoats from their slumber, but being taken by surprise, they found themselves disoriented.

Charging with a loud cry on the offensive for what seemed to be the first time since entering Charles Town, Ben was the first to literally stab one redcoat at the front, twice, while Walter and Brady took on a redcoat each. Ben then took on another redcoat, while Walter took on the officer in charge.

The redcoats stirred from their sleep were dead, the brief carnage complete. Small pools of blood slowly grew on the floor In spite of that all three men breathed a sigh of relief, thankful inside that they were able to survive the entire ordeal.

"Tell me we haven't got blood on our uniforms," said Ben, panting.

Walter and Brady checked the front of their uniforms. "I've got none, sir," said Walter.

"Brady?" asked Ben.

"Well…maybe a little, sir," said Brady, pointing at the lower left end of his uniform waistcoat.

"Thin it out," said Ben. "If any redcoat asks you, you can say that you accidentally stabbed yourself near your belly."

"Aye, sir," Brady answered.

"Hide the bodies and wipe your bayonets clean," Ben ordered his squad. "Use their uniforms to wipe out any traces of blood from the floor. And don't get blood on yourselves."

"Where should we hide them, sir?" Walter asked his superior.

"Um…under the dining table," he answered, pointing at the dining table in another room.

Immediately Walter and Brady slowly dragged the bodies to the room where the dining table was. Ben decided to take the opportunity to clean his bayonet by using one of the uniforms of the dead redcoats to wipe the blade clean. The whole process of moving the bodies was literally a struggle, given that the dead redcoat bodies were quite heavy.

When the last of the redcoats was pushed under the table, Walter and Brady immediately wiped their bayonets clean using clean areas of the redcoat uniforms belonging to the dead redcoats. Brady then got to work on trying to remove as much of the thickness of the slightly congealed blood from the lower left end of his uniform waistcoat.

"Brady, get one of the uniforms off the redcoats," Walter ordered him.

Both Ben and Walter struggled to undress the uniforms from two of the dead redcoats. Walter ended up pulling out the uniform of the officer. The uniforms were stained with blood, and the smell that almost smelled like iron and sweat was emanating from the corpses.

"That's the uniform belonging to the officer I killed," said Walter, sniffing with disgust.

"Really?" asked Brady.

"Aye," Walter answered him.

Walter and Brady immediately set to work on finding any pools and traces of blood on the wooden floor. Walter spotted one big spot and immediately applied the officer's uniform to clean away the blood.

Both Walter and Brady were still finding themselves revolting over the sight of blood. But the stench was getting the better of Brady too much that he found himself starting to cover his nose.

"I've…never seen so much blood…" said Brady. "The smell of it…is…"

"I know the sight and smell of blood is…revolting…but you kind of get used to it after a while," said Walter.

"You mean you've killed…before?" asked Brady.

"On occasion…during some missions with Sergeant Davidson," Walter answered.

"How does the Sergeant expect us to remove the blood completely?" asked Brady.

"I don't know," said Walter. "Just…remove whatever you can."

While Walter and Brady busied themselves with cleanup, Ben took on patrol duty. His ears could register the rain pouring outside, which had increased its tempo. However, he was trying to listen for any footsteps outside the house, because they could very well be a clear indication of British regulars making their approach to the house. Sometimes they might march past by, if they were lucky, but Ben would not take that chance. For the sake of his squad, he had to maintain alertness if they were escape from the grasp of the British.

When Walter and Brady were done they shoved the bloodied uniforms back under the dining table where the dead redcoats were initially shoved in.

"We're done, sir," said Walter. "We…um…couldn't really remove the blood in its entirety. We at least made it…somewhat less noticeable by removing the congealing layers."

"It will have to do," said Ben. "Load up and head upstairs."

The squad members gathered together their firearms and began loading up. Using the residual light shining into the windows, Ben, Walter, and Brady shoved bullet balls into their barrels and poured powder into their priming pans. When they were finished, they shouldered their muskets and readied their pistols.

Quietly they headed up the stairs, with Ben in the lead. When they arrived upstairs at the fourth floor, they came across a dark hallway with many doors on the sides. Instinctively Walter decided to check one of the doors. Much to his astonishment the doors opened, even if the handles were locked.

"Sergeant…the doors," Walter whispered.

"What about them?" Ben whispered back.

"They're…well, it appears that one of them is…well, they can open, in spite of them being locked."

Ben wasted no time in verifying Walter's claim. Sure enough, he pushed open one of the doors as well. He checked the door handle; it was locked. This led him to check the side of the doorway, which sported damage.

"It looks like our previous visitors were barging in the rooms," said Ben.

Keeping in mind the objective of finding a room that would lead them directly to Colonel Cooke's house, Ben tried one of the middle rooms. The window in front of him was covered by a two-sided white curtain, which was obscured in the dark. Carefully he separated the right-hand curtain and peered through the window. A balcony, which he presumed belonged to the house of Colonel Cooke, was right in his view, in spite of being obscured by the dark and rain.

Ben immediately left the room to summon his squad. "This way, into this room," he ordered them quietly. It took both Walter and Brady a while to enter the same room where Ben was in.

"What's up with you?" Ben asked Walter.

"Well…um…some of us were stumbling in the dark," Walter answered.

"I see," said Ben. He pulled open the curtains.

"Right here," said Ben, pointing to the window that faced Colonel Cooke's house. "We can use this window to gain entry into Colonel Cooke's house using our rope-line." He turned to Brady. "Brady, start assembling the crossbow."

"Aye, sir," Brady acknowledged. He immediately set to work on assembling the crossbow.

"While Brady is assembling our crossbow, we should try to slow the redcoats down…in case any of them manage to find out what happened here," Ben said to Walter.

"We can use this wardrobe to hold them off," said Walter, pointing to a wardrobe furniture beside the left of the doorway.

"Good work," Ben complimented Walter. "Let's get to it.

Walter and Brady immediately got to work on moving the heavy wooden wardrobe. Because they were in a hurry, they couldn't afford to have any qualms about scratching the floor, since it was indeed quite heavy. As a result, the bottom of the wardrobe was making creaky sounds on the wooden floor.

"Lift, Brady!" Walter whispered in frustration.

The two squad members, after some struggle, were able to prop the wardrobe directly at the door.

Catching sight of a fairly large table, Ben flipped it over to use for temporary cover should the redcoats start breaching the room.


	15. Chapter 15

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 15

Brady was just getting to work on assembling the crossbow. The tiller, that is, the vertical stick, had to have a physical connection with the horizontal stock that had the bowstring attached.

Suddenly Ben was starting hearing footsteps from downstairs.

"Quiet! Hush!" Ben cried.

Not only were there the sounds of footsteps, but loud commotion could also be heard. It was the voice of many men downstairs, and it sounded like orders to other men were being issued.

"The redcoats?" Ben asked his superior.

"Who else?" Ben retorted. "Brady!" Ben whispered.

Brady immediately looked up.

"You may have less than a minute," Ben notified him. "Make it count. We'll hold off as long as we can.

The sounds of the redcoats' boots were converging on the squad's location. One by one they could hear the banging of doors. Immediately Ben and Walter thrust themselves onto the door in the gallant attempt to prop it closed.

Outside the room redcoats violently kicked open every door in their sights. An officer carrying an illuminated candle-lantern was shouting orders to the men. Inside the room it was not long before Ben and Walter felt a very hard thud on the door.

"It's probably them," said one redcoat.

The banging on the door continued. Ben and Walter continued applying more force on the door as they to keep the redcoats from kicking it open.

Suddenly silenced fills the entire room.

"Sergeant, I've finished assembling the crossbow," Brady whispered.

"Good man," Ben whispered back. "Attach some thick rope to the bolt and load it in."

"Aye, sir," Brady whispered in reply.

Suddenly a hissing sound could be heard from behind the door.

"What's that, Sergeant?" Walter asked Ben rather curiously.

Ben cocked his ears to discern what sort of sound was behind the door. That same hissing sound was beginning to sound like a fuse. Perhaps it was one, but Ben had no intention of taking chances with his life and the lives of his squad members. Besides, what other reason would they need to use a fuse?

The answer began to dawn on Ben. If it was a fuse, then they would need something to detonate.

"Gunpowder," Ben whispered in horror. "TO COVER!" he shouted to his squad. "NOW"

Walter immediately took up a position beside Brady. Both Walter and Brady cock back their Brown Besses. Ben started sprinting for cover, while at the same time instinctively looking back at the door. But before he can get to cover, a sudden explosion ensued.

From his frame of reference Ben could see himself being literally thrown backward off his feet, lying flat on his back as debris is blasted toward him. He was almost rendered nearly incapacitated.

Four redcoats immediately swarmed into the room. Two shots were fired at them from behind. Turning his head he could see that it would be Walter and Brady who fired the shot, as evidenced from the smoke emanating from barrels' end. Walter and Brady then flung aside their muskets and draw their pistols, firing a shot.

However, one redcoat barged into the room, pinning Ben down and attempted to finish him off with a bayonet at his throat, but Ben struggled with holding the redcoat's hand away from him. Another redcoat lunged at Walter, but he kicked him off, and Walter instantly charged into him. He struggled with the redcoat until he managed to get at his head and snap his neck.

Brady, out of sheer terror, fired a single rope-attached bolt at another regular. He starts screaming in sheer pain as Ben pushes him off. Reacting immediately to the situation, Walter grabbed a chair and smashes the redcoat's face, severely giving him a concussion and knocking him unconscious and bleeding from the right-hand side of his face.

Ben's vision was blurry. He could not clearly register what was going on, as the whole explosion was quite disorienting for him.

A blurry image of a figure was trying to help him up.

"Are you all right, Sergeant?" the figure asked.

Upon hearing that voice Ben tried to focus his vision. It was Walter speaking to him.

"I'm…um…"

Walter started helping Ben up.

"I think so," Ben answered. "I'll be all right. Thanks for helping me up."

It took a while for Ben to regain his consciousness. He looked around the room, checking to make sure that Brady was still alive, which, thank God, he was. Soon the blur in his vision started to clear. He flinched back a little when he discovered that he was face-to-face with Walter.

Ben started taking notice of Walter's redcoat officer uniform. "Hold your horses," Ben ordered before turning to Walter. "Walter…we have to exchange uniforms.

Walter immediately looked up at Ben. "Sir?" he asked.

"It's blatantly obvious that as squad leader, I'm in command," replied Ben. "Any redcoat who has us in our view needs to be aware of this, if we're in their presence. With you, Walter, you may find yourself unable to carry out this act without making a fool of yourself, and you'll get the redcoats suspicious as a result." Ben came close to Walter. "We _must_ exchange uniforms."

"I'm beginning to find myself agreeing with you, sir," said Walter.

"Thank you, Walter," said Ben."

Ben and Walter immediately exchanged uniforms. Walter donned on the redcoat infantry uniform as Ben donned on the redcoat officer's uniform coat.

Brady," Ben asked his fellow squad member. "Would you have some idea what rank does this uniform belong to?"

"Um…Sergeant, sir," Brady frankly.

"You're sure, Brady?" Ben asked pointedly, the inflection in his tone of voice descending.

"Aye, sir," Brady answered in earnest.

"I cannot afford to misidentify this uniform's rank," Ben warned Brady. In order to keep suspicion even to a bare minimum, Ben needed to know the correct uniform's rank. If he misidentified the uniform's rank, other British officers would become suspicious of the possibility of an imposter in their presence.

I've observed the uniforms of redcoat officers who were taken prisoner by us, sir. It is a sergeant's uniform.

Ben heaved a sigh. "All right, Brady," Ben concurred. "I'll take your word for it." He gave the new uniform a brief glance. "Fascinating coincidence, that one, considering I'm a sergeant…" he said to himself. Because Ben was a sergeant in his own right, the uniform seemed to complement his actual rank.

After making sure that his new uniform was straightened, Ben faced his squad. "Now…because we're still in uniform…we can still confound them, claiming that we're taking General Cooke's daughter to a secure location," Ben confided closely with his squad. The rain was still going on. "On account of the fact that the redcoats are still after us, we'll have to assume different names. I'll be…Peter Wollcroft." He then turned to Walter. "You, Walter, will be…Samuel Taylor, and you, Brady, will be…George Noyce. If you have objections to your new names, now's the time to voice it."

Walter and Brady simply look at Ben.

"No? All right. Let's move," said Ben. "Remember your new names, for your cover and your lives will depend upon it. Just let me handle the talking, and as you are my subordinates, do not say anything unless asked. Understood, boys?"

Aye, sir," answered Walter.

"Brady…you'll remember?" Ben asked him.

"Aye, sir," Brady acknowledged.

Brady aimed his crossbow at the fuzzy outline of the third-story balcony before firing a single crossbow bolt with a thick rope attached into the balcony itself. To Brady's fortune, and the squad's, the bolt stuck itself between the small columns of the balcony rail. Brady pulled on the rope to test the bolt's secure hold on the balcony railing of Colonel Cooke's house.

"The other end is secure, Sergeant, but I'll need something to secure _my_ end of the rope," Brady notified his superior.

Ben quickly scanned the room for anything that would be strong enough to maintain a strong hold on the rope if he and his squad hoped to cross the rope to the balcony. He spied on the heavy wardrobe.

"Walter, help me move that wardrobe to the front of the window…where Brady's at," Ben commanded him.

Without hesitation, Walter assisted Ben in this endeavor.

"You sure the wardrobe will hold the rope?" Walter asked his superior.

"If…it's strong enough," said Ben. "It's already heavy, right? It'll do it."

"If you say so, Sergeant," said Walter.

When the wardrobe was in front of the window, Brady was able to secure his end of the rope on the furniture by looping the rope around the wardrobe itself. Then he tied a secure knot, and made sure the knot was secure as well.

"Now it's secure, Sergeant," said Brady.

"Good man," Ben complimented him, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Is it slanted?" Ben asked him.

"I checked, sir," said Brady. "From the looks of it, the rope goes in a slanted direction…forward. Why do you ask, sir?" he asked Ben.

"You'll need gravity if you hope to slide across the rope…right?" said Ben.

"Of course…sir," Brady answered him.

Rummaging through his haversack, Ben managed to fish for three hooks that were part of the equipment they brought with them before infiltrating Charles Town.

"The problem is that if we end up going together, we risk the rope breaking under the stress, or worse the knot comes apart," Ben said to his squad. "We'll have to do this one at a time."

Ben immediately turned to Brady. "Brady…you'll go first," he said to him, handing him a hook. "You put this on the rope and hang on to it with your life." He then began to address his squad. "Each of us, before leaving this room, will make sure the knot of the rope is secure."

Brady was not sure if he was going to like this. In first time of his life he was going to attempt a possibly hazardous feat, which would result in his fall if he were not careful. Nevertheless he saluted Ben.

Brady took a very deep breath. "Very well, sir," he answered.

He shouldered his musket and stuffed his pistol to his left-hand side. Making sure that his hook was in his right hand he hung the hook on the rope and put his feet on the windowsill. Walter checked to see if the rope and knot were secure, which they were. That being the case, Walter gave a nod to Ben, who in turn, nodded to Brady, approving the stunt. Setting himself up, Brady propelled himself away from the windowsill and zipped his way across the slanted rope-line.

Because everything had to be kept quiet, there would be no way for Ben or Walter to tell if Brady made it safely across. They would have to work on a positive assumption that Brady made it safely across the rope. Walter would be the next person to figure that one out. With his hook in hand, Walter got himself onto the windowsill and planted the hook on the rope-line. Checking the secure hold of the knot, Ben gave his nod to Walter. At that cue, Walter propelled himself away from the windowsill, zipping his way across.

This left Ben, who was preparing to make the stunt. Making sure that the rope's hold on the heavy wardrobe was secure, he planted his hook on the rope-line and planted his feet on the windowsill. Counting to five, he propelled himself away from the window. As he zipped across the rope-line, he could feel the rain hitting his face harder while in forward motion.


	16. Chapter 16

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 16

Ben zipped his way across the rope-line all the way near the balcony. However, Brady's crossbow bolt only impacted in the middle of the balcony rail's width.

Fortunately, Walter was there to assist Ben in getting over to the balcony. Walter extended his right hand across the balcony rail, and Ben grabbed it. With his other hand, Ben climbed over to the balcony rail.

* * *

Unbeknownst to the Fifth Regiment squad, a redcoat private managed to observe a handful of people roping across a rope-line. He immediately reported to his superior officer. He saluted.

"Sir, I have news related to our missing saboteurs," said the redcoat. "I saw…a lone figure rope across a line."

The officer laughed. "That's absurd," he replied. "Surely your eyes must be playing tricks on you, Private Eddington."

"I assure you, sir, it's not. I witnessed it with my own eyes."

The major sighed.

"He's dead earnest about it, Major Kyle," said one junior officer.

"Have you observed where the rope leads to?" asked the major.

"Probably…I'm not sure, sir. It led to a house with three stories. I saw the last one land on the balcony."

"Could very well be the house of Miss Cooke," said the officer.

"Very well," said the major. "We'll investigate her state of affairs."

* * *

"Everybody all right?" Ben quietly inquired his squad.

"Aye, sir," said Walter.

"Brady?" Ben called.

"I'm…I'm all right, sir," Brady answered his superior.

Now that his squad was still there and still alive, Ben decided that now was the time to pay a visit to the daughter of Colonel Cooke. He knew, however, that knocking on the door would alert any British troops inside, so if he and his squad ever hoped of gaining access to Susanna's room quietly, sneaking in would be the only option for them. Groping his way in the dark and rain, Ben managed to come across something solid and circular: a doorknob.

Immediately he started turning the knob. To his surprise, the balcony door was unlocked. Whoever was holding Susanna Cooke in custody probably didn't expect anyone to climb, much less rope-line to the balcony.

Ben quietly opened the door, which opened to the inside in a forward direction. The door revealed a bedroom slightly illuminated by wax candles. From inside the room, a British officer, who happened to be a major, was immediately alerted, and was pointing a pistol at Ben. But when he saw Ben and his squad in the uniforms of redcoats, he lowered his firearm. There were two other armed redcoats in Susanna Cooke's bedroom.

"My God!" the officer said to Ben and his squad in disguise. He was quite surprised at their sudden presence.

"'Tis all right, sir," Ben answered.

"He's a major, Sergeant," Ben whispered to Brady.

That was going to be a problem for Ben. Because his rank as sergeant was lower, he was not going to be able to give orders to have Susanna Cooke released. He would have to find another way to solve the problem…and fast.

"Hold your fire, men!" the major ordered. The redcoat guards raised and shouldered their Land Pattern muskets before the major faced Ben and his squad. "Who the bloody hell are you?" he greeted loudly in shock. "And how in God's name did you enter this room?"

Ben wasted no time in introducing himself and his squad. "I'm Sergeant Peter Wollcroft, and these two are Samuel Taylor and George Noyce," Ben answered. He pointed to the balcony door. "I think you may have forgotten to lock these doors," he told them.

The redcoat major looked at him skeptically. "Don't recall any of you," he replied. "Who sent you?"

"We sent ourselves, sir," said Ben. "We're here to take Colonel Cooke's daughter to a safe location."

"She's safe enough, sir," the major said bluntly.

"Not where she is, she isn't," Ben retorted.

"Well, sir, unless you have confirmation…" continued the major.

"Not where she is, she isn't…sir," Ben interrupted him.

"Well, sir, unless you have confirmation from the chain of command, you're in no position to have Miss Cooke handed over to you," the major pointed out.

"You sure that's really needed?" Ben protested immediately. "Our mission is at stake!" Ben was itching to interrupt, but it would do no good, since it would only get him in trouble for insubordination.

"I'm sorry, sir, but that's orders from General Clinton," said the major.

Ben gave the officer a very weird look. "Who?" Ben inquired the officer rather bluntly.

"General…Henry Clinton, sir," replied the major. "He's holding her for ransom from a rebel…Colonel Cooke."

"The hell with confirmation from General Clinton!" Ben protested loudly. "Unless he wants to enjoy the presence of Colonel Cooke's daughter and make money off of her, he would do well to see to it that she is in safe hands!"

"My apologies, Sergeant Wollcroft, but the General has been quite specific about his orders," the major only said. "No one takes Miss Cooke out of her house without explicit written confirmation from him."

"Well, if that's the case, I suppose I'll have to take matters into my hands," Ben said finally.

"You'll do no such thing, sir!" the major protested.

Ben rapidly walked over to Susanna Cooke. "Come on, Susanna, we're leaving."

The redcoat guard attempted to stay Ben's hands, but Ben instantly threw a punch to his face. The two other redcoat guards readied their muskets, but Ben and Walter instantly drew their pistols faster than the guards can draw their muskets. Ben and Walter fired a shot at each of them, and the guards crumpled to the wooden floor.

Immediately Ben drew out his pistol. But recovering from the punch, the redcoat guard whom Ben was arguing a few minutes ago started grabbing hold of Ben's pistol hand, making Ben accidentally discharge the pistol itself. The redcoat guard then violently slammed Ben over a china set. Ben eyed the guard's groin area and executed a large kick in there. That stunned the guard, allowing Ben to gain the upper hand over him. Ben repeatedly smashed the guard's body on another large dresser laden with china until the guard's face was bloodied and his uniform totally messed up.

Susanna Cooke watched the scene with sheer anxiety and horror at the very same time. In sheer desperation, Brady grabbed up one of the muskets belonging to one of the dead redcoat guards and cocked back the flintlock mechanism. Walter did the same with the other musket belonging to the other guard. However, Brady was the first to take aim at the redcoat major struggling with Ben. He fired a single shot, which struck the major in the back. The major lifelessly dropped on Ben, and Ben shoved him to his left, where the body crumpled to the wooden floor.

Ben immediately spotted Brady.

Ben nodded to Brady while panting in sheer exhaustion. "Nice aim, Brady," he complimented his squad member.

Walter wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Perhaps we should have taken that question about General Clinton's written confirmation into account," he said.

Susanna Cooke was looking around, confused and scared as hell. "What was that all about?" she blustered.

"Uncooperative guard unit," answered Ben. "They were…hard-headed about us moving you to…what was it, a safe location."

"Where…where am I moved to?" asked Susanna.

"Someplace safe," replied Ben. "Anywhere but here. Charlestown is too occupied by the redcoats and we have orders to get you out of here."

"Tell me you're here to…rescue me," Susanna pleaded.

"What the hell does it look like?" gestured Walter.

Susanna took a deep breath. "The soldiers…they told me that I was schedule to hang at noon if my father did not withdraw his forces from advancing to New York…and pay up his ransom money for my release."

Ben could feel his jaw literally drop. "_Hanged_?" he said loudly.

Susanna nodded her head in response. The thought of being hanged, as usual, was far too terrifying to even think about. Ben could almost tell that Susanna herself was feeling greatly relieved over the presence of her rescuers.

Suddenly a loud commotion could be heard from downstairs. The sounds of rapid footsteps were converging to the upstairs level. If these sounds could be coming from none other than the redcoats, the squad would have to prepare fast to protect Susanna.

Immediately the three Fifth Regimenters got to work on moving a tall wall shelf, which toted an aesthetically pleasing and colorful variety of china teacups and saucers, all of which could barely be appreciated in the half-illuminated, candlelit bedroom. Unfortunately, the hasty move of the wall shelf resulted in the breaking and shattering of the china teacups and saucers in the process.

Ben immediately faced Susanna. "Hide," he hissed.

"Where?" Susanna asked Ben rather desperately.

"Where else, madam?! In the damn closet!" Ben hissed back.

When Susanna was completely in the closet, Ben and his squad were able to prop the wall shelf directly in front of the closet door.

The sound of loud banging on the door was more than enough to frighten Susanna. Immediately she bolted for the closet door and upon opening it, dragged herself in and shut the door quietly. Ben then ordered his squad mates to load their firearms and appear to stand down.

The door gradually gave way, soon to be followed by a company of three British soldiers in tow with an officer. Immediately they were shocked at seeing the bodies of their dead comrades. Apparently the Fifth Regimenters hadn't bothered to take the time to hide the bodies. But perhaps they were counting on an opportunity to catch the redcoats off guard.

"Oh…my…God…" muttered one regular in shock.

The officer immediately faced the Fifth Regiment boys. "You!" he shouted, before facing his men. "Arrest those boys! At once!"

Walter, who happened to be currently situated at the right-hand end facing the doorway, wasted no time aiming his pistol at the officer. He fired his shot, which instantly struck the officer's head.

Taking advantage of the fact that the other three redcoat guards were stunned with Walter's brutal proficiency with his pistol, Ben and Brady immediately aimed their loaded muskets and fire from the hip at two other redcoats. The last redcoat standing was then shot by Walter with another pistol.

When the brief shootout was over, the smoke from the flintlock firearms lingered in the room. It was a point of fact that the squad could be used to the smell of discharged gunpowder, as evidenced by the fact that they hardly had a reaction to it.

But the entire ordeal was far from over, as more loud commotion could be heard downstairs. As usual, the safe assumption for the Fifth Regimenters was that the redcoats were coming.

"Load your weapons!" Ben ordered his squad members. "And gather the rest from the bodies."

The squad feverishly worked on reloading their weapons. Using the low-level candlelight to guide them in their hasty firearms reloading, each of them began shoving bullets into the barrels of their Land Pattern muskets and pouring powder into their priming pans.

"I…I don't think we can hold them all off…sergeant," Walter stammered.

"We'd better," Ben declared in a determined manner. "If not all, then at least some…just to buy us some time to escape with Susanna Cooke."

Ben spotted four redcoats and an officer, who was holding a lit lantern on his left hand and a loaded pistol on the other, headed to their location up the stairs. Ben quietly cocked a pistol. When the officer reaches the top of the stairs, Ben immediately emerged and fires a pistol shot at the officer at point blank range. Stunned, the officer tumbled down the stairs, making his men tumble down the stairs in a messy heap. The lantern shattered upon impact and immediately sets the stairs on fire.

"On me, boys!" Ben rallied his comrades.

Walter and Brady immediately took aim with their muskets and fire their shots, striking a redcoat each. Spotting a redcoat trying to run away, Ben threw away his discharged pistol and drew another one, cocking it first then firing it at the redcoat. He missed, to his (pent-up) frustration.

"Dammit!" Ben swore in frustration before turning to his squad. "Walter, Brady, take care of the rest!" he ordered them. "I'm gonna subdue the other one!"

Ben immediately chases after the redcoat. If the redcoat managed to escape, he could rat out the whereabouts of Ben and his squad mates. Ben managed to catch up with the young struggling redcoat. Pinning him down, he hoisted him up and violently slammed him onto a nearby shelf. Then he pulled out his knife and plunged it deep near the soldier's throat. It was not exactly a clean kill, but a pretty messy one.

Ben used the uniform taken from the dead redcoat and soaked it with rainwater as much as he possibly can. He tensed all over, for he feared that the fire on the stairway would threaten to consume the house and bring down Susanna Cooke and his entire squad with it. He used the uniform to extinguish out the fire as fast as he can. The fire on the stairway was now extinguished.

Nearly exhausted after the tense situation between him and the young British soldier, Ben returned to his comrades.

"How'd it go?" asked Walter.

"Messy," Ben answered rather bluntly.

"We were literally struggling with this fellow here," added Walter.

Walter spotted the body of the fourth redcoat, who appeared to be dead, but without any violent signs of struggle.

"How the hell did you both manage to subdue him?" Ben questioned Walter.

"Brady held him down and I…choked him to death…" Walter replied while taking steady breaths in exhaustion.

Brady winced in reaction, and Walter, not to his surprise, witnessed him doing it. Even in battle, Brady, in his mildly squeamish behavior, could still be revolted by the sight of blood.

"…Which was why I was the one who completed the kill," Walter finished.

Ben ordered his squad mates to hide the bodies and hurry with cleaning of whatever blood was left on the wooden floor.

"Is that supposed to be a courtesy to the owner of this house?" asked Walter.

More of a measure to cover our tracks than a courtesy, Walter," answered Ben.

Ben immediately headed to Susanna's bedroom. At present, Susanna was placing a handkerchief to her nose, as her reaction to the sight of the dead redcoat bodies was one of sheer dread; to her it was the equivalent of being exposed to the grave of a dead relative.

"Are we…are we safe?" Susanna stammered.

"Nearly, madam, but not quite," Ben answered Susanna. "Please tell me you've got some means of transportation."

Susanna pressed her handkerchief to her nose, unable to overcome her adverse reaction to the horrific sight of the bodies, even though they were the bodies of the British troops. "I've…I've never seen a sight so terrible as this…" she complained.

Ben took a good sober look at the dead bodies of the redcoat troops before facing Susanna.

"Your reaction is understandable, Miss Cooke," said Ben. "However, my question begs for an entirely different answer."

Walter and Brady could be seen arriving to Susanna's room with one of the dead, messy and bloodstained bodies of the British troops they killed.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" asked Susanna, wincing again upon witnessing Walter and Brady bringing the bodies to her bedroom.

"If you want to get out of here alive, we will need a means of transportation," Ben told her. "Do you happen to have it?"

"Umm…Aye," Susanna answered with some timidity in her tone of voice. "My father kept a carriage and a couple of horses in the stable. If we hurry we can get to them before the soldiers do."

"Sounds simple enough if we took our own little leaps of faith and not bother with the courtesy clean-up," said Walter.

"Hold on," Ben ordered. "It's possible that we might be able to slip Miss Cooke out of Charles Town if we did it…inconspicuously."

"Beseeching your pardon, sergeant, but the whole damn army is after us!" Walter retorted.

"Not unless we're in disguise," Ben pointed out. He faced Susanna. "Does your carriage driver usually drive in uniform?"

"Aye…sir," Susanna answered.

"Walter…Brady…lose the uniforms," Ben ordered his squad members. "Get dressed in ordinary clothes and take whatever weapons there are in this house and stow them on board. Susie, get dressed in traveling clothes and place a head covering."

"Now you've finally addressed us by our real names, eh, sergeant?" Walter asked his superior with sarcasm.

"For now. But we're gonna have to change our names," said Ben.

"Of course," Walter agreed. "But on the uniforms…can't we get new ones?"

"No," Ben answered rather pointedly. "The uniforms of the dead redcoats will not help us, since they're splattered with blood…nor will the uniforms we're wearing right now. And besides…we have a hostage in tow."

"All right," said Walter. "What will be our new aliases?"

"For the moment, I think I've run out of ideas for all three of us," said Ben. "I can be…'Jeremiah Crofton'. Just remember to think up a name if the redcoats interrogate us."

"Got it," said Walter.

"I'll try…sir," said Brady.

"Good," said Ben. "Now that that's settled…" He turned to Susanna. "Do you have clothes for a carriage driver?"

"Aye," Susanna replied, nodding her head rather hastily and nervously.

"_I'll_ be the driver," declared Ben. For Ben to be the driver would make sense, since Ben was formerly in Charles Town before during his failed heist.

"Now let's get to work," said Ben. "And make it fast, boys. You, too, Susanna. We're hard-pressed for time here."

With a lit candle in hand, Susanna made haste to a nearby bedroom in the second floor. There she found three suits of clothing for the Fifth Regimenters.

"Will these do?" asked Susanna.

Ben took a rather cursory look at the three articles of clothing shown in the candlelight. "They're dry, at least," he said to her. "And decent-looking." He handed a complete set to each of his squad members.

The squad immediately got to work on changing their clothes. Each of them removed the wet and damp British uniforms from their bodies and donned on the clothes of ordinary civilians. For the squad, it was a relief, however temporary it would be, to be in dry clothes. But there was the lingering longing among Walter and Brady for not wanting to get wet in the rain again.

"I'm not sure if I'm looking forward to getting wet…again," said Walter.

"Me, too," Brady put in.

Ben continued donning on his new waistcoat. "You won't," he said to them. "If you stay in Susanna's carriage as her…bodyguards…and if Susanna's carriage is still in working order."

"Let's hope so," said Walter in a wry manner. "Are we ready to leave, Sergeant?"

Ben nodded his head to Walter before turning to Susanna. "You ready, Miss Cooke?" Ben asked Susanna.

"Aye," Susanna answered.

"C'mon! Let's get you out of here," Ben said to her. "Let's go."

* * *

Author's Notes:

Logically all British troops would be alerted about the presence of Ben, Walter, and Brady, but since the Fifth Regiment boys are in disguise, compounded by the fact that communication was slow back in those days, it seemed logical that the British are confounded by Ben, Walter, and Brady in disguise.


	17. Chapter 17

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 17

In a candlelit bedroom, a solitary figure of a man in undergarments and black breeches was playing a violin for pleasure. The man was in his early fifties, and his face, which was nearly formed with wrinkles, was one that held a countenance of relief and tiredness.

This man was General Henry Clinton. As it was he seemed to be a man who had known little else in life but the aspects of conducting warfare from the comfort of his quarters, and occasionally, on horseback. But at this time, he was in a relaxing mood. As it appeared, General Clinton seemed to be quite an individual who would take the occasion to indulge his desires.

But it was not long before the mood was interrupted by a firm rapping at his bedroom door.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come," he called loudly.

The door opened and inside stepped a major, accompanied by a young private. Both men were slightly…timid and protocol-driven. General Clinton laid aside his violin before facing the two men in his presence.

"Well, speak up," General Clinton ordered.

The officer immediately saluted General Clinton. "Your Lordship, I am Major Kyle," the major formally introduced himself. "Accompanying me is young Private Eddington."

"Duly noted," said the general, who was now starting to face the two men. "What seems to be the problem…gentlemen?"

"My lord, I regret to say that I have most dreadful news to report," the major put forth. "We have our suspicions that a young lady by the name of Miss Susanna Cooke has gone…missing. We suspect this because Private Eddington claimed that he had just witnessed…three men going across a rope."

"A rope?" asked General Clinton, barely able to stifle a laugh. "That's absurd."

"I assure you, my lord, as absurd as it sounds…the young private standing beside me thinks otherwise," the major mentioned with a serious tone in his voice.

General Clinton turned to the young private. "You are very certain this?" he asked him.

"Um…aye, sir," answered the young private.

"And how, in your view, did this happen?" the general inquired.

"Momentarily I caught a glimpse of three men going across a rope, leading from the vacated home of the Whitmans to the home of Colonel Cooke, where Miss Susanna happened to be," Private Eddington answered. "All three men, it appears, were using some sort of…hook…to glide across the rope in a sort of…downward direction."

Major Kyle, at present, had not the slightest idea of why the three men were going across a rope. All he could presume was that it had something to do with the daughter of Colonel Cooke because of the direction the rope was leading to.

"The rope…led to Miss Cooke's house?" asked General Clinton.

"Aye, my lord," replied Major Kyle. "Private Eddington described the situation to me in person. As to the reason for it being made, I know not. All I know is that I had not heard back from the men in my initial detachment…whom I put in charge of Miss Cooke's custody."

General Clinton could care less about Susanna Cooke missing. For him, everything on the job seemed to be pretty routine, and he wasn't completely dedicated to the task. Such a perceived attitude of indifference seemed to be held among the British officer corps, most of who weren't that serious about winning the war with the colonial rebels. In spite of some of the officers seemed to possess the viewpoint that the colonists, being the subjects of the British Crown, should be subdued rather than conquered, they still had the tendency to view the colonists as inept fighters against their own highly trained professional army.

"Never mind about Miss Cooke," General Clinton told the major. "Bring a detachment with you and investigate her house. If she's still there…check on her, too."

"Aye, my lord," the major responded.

"That will be all, Major," General Clinton said finally. "Dismissed."

Major Kyle saluted the general, as did the private, before they took leave of the general's room.

* * *

Meanwhile, under cover of darkness, Ben, Walter, Brady, and Susanna Cooke proceeded quietly downstairs to make their escape.

"This way," Susanna whispered to them. She led the Fifth Regiment boys to the back of the house. Quietly she opened the door and the Fifth Regiment boys exited the house.

Susanna and the Fifth Regiment boys made haste across the rain-soaked ground until they all reached the stable. She fished out a key and unlocked the stable doors. When the door was unlocked, they all hurried inside.

The stable was illuminated a little by a candle-lit lantern, and was brightened a little by Susanna's lantern as well. The two horses kept at the stable were becoming restless at the sight of Ben, Walter, Brady, and Susanna in tow. One horse whom Ben approached was restlessly braying at him.

"We'll be having a hell of a time calming them down," said Ben.

Susanna quickly approached the horse, trying to calm it down. Gently she stroked the horse's neck.

"This is Esther," said Susanna, as she stroked the horse's neck.

"It's a she?" asked Walter.

"Judging by its name…I wouldn't doubt that," replied Ben.

"Then who's the other horse?" Walter queried both to Ben and Susanna.

"Hercules," Susanna answered Walter quickly. "He's quite a strong one." She then turned to the horses. "Come on, my beauties," Susanna said to both the horses softly.

The Fifth Regimenters got to work on hitching the horses to the carriage. Ben and Walter moved Esther to the port-side side of the carriage, while Brady moved Hercules moved to the starboard side. It was a bit of a struggle to get them moving, as they had difficulty recognizing the boys.

"The horses are restless," Susanna pointed out to Ben.

Ben had just finished stuffing a loaded pistol into the interior pocket of his dark-green waistcoat. "I know," he said to her. "We can't do much of anything about it." He turned around to issue additional orders to his squad members.

"Brady, stow the firearms _and_ the supplies into the carriage," he ordered.

"Aye, sir," Brady answered. Brady gathered the firearms and supplies. He opened the starboard side of the carriage and shoved them at the starboard end.

"Walter, do assist Miss Cooke into the carriage," Ben ordered his trusted squad member. "And hurry. Time is short."

"Will do, Sergeant," said Walter. Standing at the port side, he beckoned Susanna into the carriage. "After you, my lady," he said courteously to her, but in a hurried manner.

Susanna climbed on board the carriage. After she seated herself inside, Walter and Brady stepped into the carriage as well. Ben climbed on board the driver's top seat and took hold of the horses' reins. He jerked them slightly and the horses started galloping together.

The carriage was finally off. By a sheer stroke of luck the carriage managed to get past Susanna Cooke's residence without any nearby patrolling regulars spotting them. Across the streets of Charles Town Susanna's carriage traveled at a steady rate of speed, traveling across the north direction of Queen Street. While driving, Ben somehow managed to keep his cool. So far things are going well, at least for the Fifth Regiment boys in disguise.

Ben made sure that the carriage was kept at a moderate speed to avoid having any British patrols suspicious over a carriage that was running too fast in the town. If British troops caught side of a carriage that was speeding, it was in danger of being stopped, and worse, searched. Also, fact that the streets were illuminated slightly by the whale-oil lamps and the fact that it was still raining made it necessary for Ben to keep the carriage at moderate speed as well.

Inside the carriage there was a very keen sense of tension over the possibility of the British gaining on them, as Walter and Brady maintained a higher level alertness as they assumed upon themselves the role of protectors for a nervous Susanna. Walter and Brady kept loaded pistols hidden inside their ordinary waistcoats. Any moment there could emerge a detachment of British dragoons on horseback by surprise. Any moment there could be shouting by British regulars demanding that the carriage be stopped for search-and-seizure purposes. The imminent, never-ending possibility of being surrounded and captured by the British only seemed to heighten the risk of the crucial part of the mission of the three Fifth Regimenters.

Outside the carriage, Ben battled the ever-inclement rainfall, which only served to obscure his vision as the rain continued beating his face. Keeping a constant, ever-alert state of mind and scanning the areas for any nearby redcoats in the dark of night seemed to help him in battling the inconvenience of being soaked to the skin and the slight shivers that accompanied being exposed to the rain. He continued urging the horses on throughout the streets of Charles Town. He still carried a loaded pistol with him, tucked away inside his black-green waistcoat.

Walter and Brady tried to keep Susanna calm. Evermore Susanna was restless with worry over her life that it would have been difficult for her to consider the lives of her rescuers. The shock of being exposed to the circumstances of the Fifth Regimenters violently fighting off the redcoats, and the tension of being recaptured by the British once again to be hanged if her father did not stop his efforts in supplying Washington's Army or paying the ransom for her release served to keep her in a state of restless fear.

* * *

It was only until after a quarter of an hour from stopping by the headquarters of General Clinton that a small detachment of officers on horseback make their arrival to the residence. Present in the detachment were Major Kyle and Private Eddington, who had spoken with General Clinton on the matter of Susanna Cooke before they stopped by her home.

A redcoat handed Major Kyle a candle-lit lantern, moments before entering the first floor of Susanna's home. When Major Kyle shined the lantern across the dark wooden floor, it revealed blood trails left in the dining area. It was not long before a damaged shelf was revealed as well, indicating a violent tussle that took place in this room not too long ago. The Major decided to find out where the blood trails would lead to, so he silently ordered his men to have their firearms ready as they accompanied him.

Major Kyle slowly and quietly walked up the stairs to the second floor. After what seemed to be forever, he and Private Eddington stepped into Susanna's bedroom. They took notice of the fact that blood trails were present, as well as the damaged furniture, indicative of the same fight that took place in the room.

There was no Susanna Cooke. That fact the Major Kyle and Private Eddington found out too late.

"There are blood trails…but where are the bodies?" Major Kyle asked himself.

He searched around the room carefully for anything resembling a door. Pretty soon he came across the closet door. What raised his suspicion was that under the door was another blood trail leading under.

Major Kyle carefully the closet door. To their horror he and his found the bodies of the three dead redcoat guards…as well as extra redcoat uniforms blanketing them.

The Major became utterly repulsed at the sight that he nearly wretched into a handkerchief in reaction to the horrific sight he has witnessed. The other officers were obviously disgusted as well. The stench lingered in the closet.

"Perhaps…it's not too late to catch them…" said Private Eddington.

Major Kyle immediately turned to the young upstart officer. "And how do we propose we do that…_sir_?" he retorted. He heaved a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid we are too late," he said to himself. "By that time they will be out of Charles Town." He clicked his tongue in a rather despondent manner. "Lord Clinton will not be pleased."

"Um…sir?" asked the other officer in a very uncertain manner.

"Colonel Cooke's daughter was our best hope of curtailing his ability to supply the rebel army," said Major Kyle.

* * *

The carriage rolled on through the dark and rain. In a few minutes Ben was making his approach to the entrance of the town. This was going to be problematic because two guards, along with an officer in charge, were at the gates.

Knowing full well that the guards were blocking the entrance, and that he was in danger of giving the British a reason to chase Susanna's carriage, necessity compelled him to stop the carriage near the town entrance.

"What brings you out here at such an ungodly hour, sir?" asked one officer in charge, standing at the port side of the carriage.

Ben leaned to the port side of the carriage to face the officer. He was clad in a black rain cloak over his stately-looking uniform. "We have a relative here who needs to be taken up north for a change of weather," he answered loudly. "Might put her in a good spell."

"And who might that be?" the officer queried.

Ben tried to think up a name. And fast. The first name that came up to his mind was the name of Susanna Cooke's (intimate) friend, as told from Walter when he and his squad were in Charles Town on their way to the ship docks. The rain was nearly starting to take a toll on his mental well-being

"Miss…Mary Sutton," Ben answered.

The officer simply gave Ben a rather nonplussed look. "All right," he simply agreed. "You'll have to let us look into your carriage, though. Orders from General Clinton."

"What?" asked Ben, trying to allay any suspicion of him ever knowing anything about Susanna Cooke.

"General Clinton has expressed…concerns…about citizens going in and out of Charles Town…on his watch," the officer answered Ben.

The officer immediately knocked thrice on the port-side carriage door. Ben immediately stepped down the carriage and stood beside the officer, ready to strike if the officer if he suspected something out of the ordinary, or for that matter, to cause any harm directly toward Susanna Cooke. Inside the carriage, Walter and Brady cautiously wiped off the fog from the interior of the window, revealing the British officer and Ben alongside him.

"What the hell…" Walter muttered to himself.

"Open up!" Ben shouted to the passengers inside the carriage.

"I hate what you're doing to us, Sergeant," said Walter. Calmly, he opened the port-side carriage door.

The officer held a steadily lit lantern inside the carriage. He took notice of Walter and Brady, both dressed in the clothes of ordinary citizens, and a frightened Susanna Cooke. Not taking notice of anything out of the ordinary, the officer moved away from the carriage before bearing down on Ben with a hard, stern stare. Ben immediately shut the carriage door.

"Miss…Mary Sutton, you say?" asked the officer.

"Aye," Ben answered. "I think you've inconvenienced her by ordering one of my passengers to open the carriage door…which might have let rain and cold inside. I'll bet she's suffering from chills by now."

"My apologies," said the officer, sounding quite concerned about the girl's well-being. "You can give her my sincerest condolences if I have been the cause of her troubles. But…it's orders from General Clinton."

"Right," said Ben.

"You're free to go," said the officer.

"Thanks," Ben said to him with a nod of his head.

Ben climbed back to the driver's seat of the carriage and moderately pulled the reins. The carriage drove off, finally making it out of Charles Town and leaving it behind.

* * *

I was watching a documentary on the American War for Independence called "The Revolution". I recalled that the documentary sometimes featured General Clinton play the violin, so I decided to incorporate this aspect of General Clinton's life into this chapter.


	18. Chapter 18

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 18

Susanna's carriage resumed clip-clapping across the northern route; a main road from Dorchester. Susanna and the Fifth Regiment boys were now out of Charles Town, but they were still deep in enemy lines.

Ben kept the carriage going onward. There were still redcoat encampments to contend with as he drove past them, hoping that the redcoats would not have reason to stop their carriage. With his horse-driver's lantern lighting the way a little, it would make it a mite easier for Ben to stay on the road, minimizing the possibility of leading Susanna's carriage into some sort of literal freak accident.

Walter and Brady still resumed their role as protectors for the damsel-in-distress seated between them. With their flintlocks readied and loaded, they were more alert than ever, constantly on the watch for anything that would bring Susanna to harm. Walter looked out the window, only for the dark and rain to show.

Hoping he would survive the weather and avoid catching pneumonia, Ben kept the horses going. There was still seven miles to go before they would eventually reach the point where the British encampments would end.

* * *

Eutaw Springs, near the Santee River

Finally out of enemy lines, Susanna's carriage was able to successfully reach a little near border between the colonies of North and South Carolina, all without incident so far. The rains finally subsided after a little past midnight.

It is already a little past two in the morning. They were literally traveling north across the Carolinas for almost four straight.

It was not long, however, before Ben stopped the carriage.

"Why have we stopped?" Brady asked a mite nervously, feeling a sudden jolt across the carriage, as well as a pause in the movement of the carriage. "Are we outside Charles Town?"

"Tell me we're out of reach from the redcoats," added Walter.

Ben stepped off the driver's seat and opened the port-side carriage door.

"We're finally out of Charles Town…and nearly at the end of South Carolinas," Ben answered for both Walter and Brady.

Ben assisted a very exhausted Susanna step down the carriage.

"Are you sure?" Susanna asked Ben, wanting to be certain that they were really out of Charles Town. She took note of her new surroundings.

"Aye," said Ben. "We're near a river."

"What?" asked Susanna. "You mean the Santee?"

"Well, it sure appears that way," Ben said to her. He turned to his squad. "Walter, Brady, start setting up a small tent."

"Aye, sir," said Walter. "Come on Brady," he called. "Help me set it up."

Walter and Brady got to work in setting up a tent, which was a little near the carriage itself. Meanwhile, Ben was holding quiet discussion with Susanna on what she and the Fifth Regiment boys would do.

"We're still not out of the Carolinas…yet," Ben informed her. "Chances are…we might still be beset upon with the redcoats."

"So…you're not really sure what to do next," said Susanna rather despondently.

Ben chuckled in a wry manner. "We're the Fifth Regimenters," he said to her. "We improvise…even in predicaments like this. And that's what we're going to do, Susanna." He stroked his chin.

"My father is still in Virginia," said Susanna. "Is that where we're going?"

"Of course," Ben answered her. "When you…and all of us are rested…we'll continue on until we reach the borders of Virginia. Has your father mentioned where he went in his correspondences to you?"

"Well…" began Susanna. "He said…last week in his letter…that he would be…in Williamsburg."

"Well, that's where I and my men are headed," said Ben. "However, Madam, I'm not really sure that's where he'll really be."

Susanna hung her head in despondency.

"When we arrive to Virginia, we'll take you to the Fifth Regiment camp in Williamsburg," Ben said to her. "Hopefully they'll be able to locate your father."

"Thank you…Sergeant Wollcroft," Susanna replied to Ben rather gratefully. "I would really…appreciate that."

Ben nodded in silence as Susanna quietly took her leave. He had the strong urge to reveal his actual name, but the prudent part of his mind decided against it; best that Susanna believed he was "Sergeant Wollcroft" than to have his own identity, and that of his squad, given away if the redcoats were upon them.

As Susanna headed for the tent, Ben made his approach to Walter. "Walter," he called.

"Yes, sir," Walter responded.

"I want a private word with you," Ben said to him rather bluntly.

"Aye?" asked Walter, as he looked back at him. He shouldered his firearm and made his approach to his superior officer.

Ben led Walter a little far from the edge of the temporary camp. They were facing the dense woodlands of South Carolina.

"Tell me that 'private word with you' has something to do with the carriage being stopped at the entrance of Charles Town," said Walter.

"It does," Ben answered in a simple but blunt manner.

"Why did you make me open the carriage door to the officer outside?" Walter asked him.

"Because…" Ben began. He struggled to find the right words to explain.

"You weren't trying to betray me and Brady," said Walter. "You know…like what you did with Mr. Herring?"

"No, Walter. It's not that," said Ben.

"I was afraid it would come to that," said Walter. He was right. What was to stop Ben from simply dumping Walter and Brady and Susanna out of the carriage, leaving them behind to escape from Charles Town?"

"Mr. Herring was a pain in the arse," said Ben. "Not to mention…a treacherous fiend. I had the opportunity to get rid of him. So I took it. You…and Brady…and Susanna…you are my closest companions. As for Susanna…well, she's the reason were in Charles Town. Or at least one of the reasons…in addition to blowing up two British frigates at the Charles Town docks."

Walter hung his head. "All right, Sergeant. I see your point. But back to my first question…"

Ben walked up to Walter. "I had to keep the situation calm," he said to him. "If I hadn't done that…the officer would have simply shot me…and you and Brady and Susanna would have been captured by the British…because by stopping him I would have given him a reason to capture all three of you. And me. It was all about…keeping enemy suspicions to a bare minimum. It's what gets us out of enemy lines…alive."

Ben took in a deep breath, feeling quite relieved that he had unburdened himself to Walter over the reasons regarding the incident with the British officer at the town entrance.

"Now…I have a favor to ask of you," Ben said to him. "I want you to…entertain Susanna. Make her feel at home."

"Sergeant, I've got a girl," Walter protested. "Sarah Bennett. Wouldn't want her to think I've broke her heart if I get too intimate with her."

"I understand…and you won't have to," said Ben.

"And I'll bet you'd have Brady do it if I wouldn't," Walter added. "Brady's got a girl, too, you know. Fanny. Wouldn't want him to break Fanny's heart, too, you know."

Ben heaved a heavy sigh. He knew that there would be the tendency for men to be unfaithful to their wives and their engaged. But at the same time, however, Susanna was in desperate need for some form of entertainment; hopefully one that would involve being too forward with each other.

"You can do it without getting too close to her…can you?" Ben asked him in earnest.

"I suppose…but it's courting an awful lot of trouble," Walter warned him. The fact that such a task was requested of him seemed to weigh a little heavily on his fairly conscientious mind.

"Just treat her as a friend…and it should work out," said Ben. "Hopefully. Susanna's scared as hell, Walter. Since you happen to be the humorous type, _you_ are qualified for the job."

Walter sighed. "I'll make it work, sir," he assured his commanding officer.

"Thank you, Walter," Ben said to him in reply, as Walter headed back to Susanna's tent.

* * *

Inside the tent, Susanna was still shivering from her experience with the chase. Walter separated the folds as he stepped inside.

"You all right, Miss Susanna?" Walter asked her out of courtesy.

Susanna looked up at Walter. "Aye," she answered.

Walter took a seat near Susanna. Spotting a blanket, he promptly wrapped it around her.

"When we…my comrades and I…were on our mission to rescue you from the redcoats…I came across someone who claimed to be your…best friend," Walter said to her.

"You mean…Mary Sutton?" Susanna asked him a mite eagerly. There was some sort excitement in her tone of voice, which had a warm disposition. Clearly she recognized her friend's name.

"By Jove, that's the one!" Walter said to her excitedly.

"Of course," said Susanna. "Mary Sutton…is my acquaintance in Charles Town. She's my age." She gave one, long curious look at Walter. "Why, Mr. Wheaton, were you looking for a girl in Charles Town?

"What?" Walter almost blushed in embarrassment. The very idea!

"Oh, no, Miss," he said with a charming smile. "I already have a girl back in Williamsburg. Her name's Sarah Bennett Wheaton."

"Really?" Susanna hung her head. "My goodness, I thought she might have been taken up with you."

"No need to, Miss," said Walter.

"Then what's the whole point of engaging in…small talk…with me?" Susanna asked her.

"Oh…just orders passed down by Sergeant Davidson," said Walter. "I was instructed to help you feel better…"

"What do you mean…who is 'Sergeant Davidson'"? Susanna inquired him rather anxiously.

"He's our commanding officer," said Walter.

"I thought he was…'Sergeant Wollcroft'," said Susanna.

"That was him," said Walter.

As Walter and Susanna Cooke carried on conversation with each other, Ben silently seated himself down on a lone stump, took off his cap, and wiped his head with the palms of his hands. He took a break, facing north, where home was…up north.


	19. Chapter 19

_**His Excellency's Orders**_

**Written By: **_**Commander Cody CC-2224**_

* * *

CHAPTER 19

EPILOGUE

Ben finally came to the conclusion of his storytelling. He sat back on his rocking chair, feeling quite relieved that he was able to finish his own story all the way from beginning to end.

"And…and what else did you and Susanna does after you rested?" Anne asked her.

"Well…we did bring Susanna Cooke back to her father…who, of course, was quite overjoyed to see her," Ben answered her in a rather succinct manner.

"And that's how it ended?" Anne asked him. "It…it does sound awfully far-fetched to be true."

"Come on, Anne," said Tom. "Of course it's true. My father told that story to me a handful of times. After listening to him tell the stories of his war days…you can never doubt his word."

"You and the rest of the boys _had_ to be compensated handsomely for this task," said Felicity.

"We were," said Ben. "After every mission as perilous as that one, we're usually quite…compensated for our…hard work."

"What does that mean?" Anne's younger sister, Charlotte, asked her.

"It means that Mr. Davidson got paid," Anne answered her younger sister.

"With what?" Charlotte persisted.

"Money, of course," Anne answered her. "What else would they get paid with?"

"Well, there were these notes issued by the Continental Congress…many of the probably worthless, 'cause there was nothing to back them with," said Ben.

"But…that's tragic!" exclaimed Nan. "How on earth would Ben be able to make a living out of this?"

"Well…usually we get compensated with good meals…the finest than any infantryman in Washington's Army could have," said Ben. Reflecting on what he had been told about Washington's starving army at Valley Forge an air of glumness seemed to have loomed over his face. "Considering what happened at Valley Forge a few years ago…that has to count…a lot," he said grimly. "'Cause a starving man isn't of much use on the battlefield…much less in an operation that demands his strength and mind."

"I couldn't agree more with Master Davidson," said Mrs. Wentworth, before turning to Mr. Wentworth. "My dear, what time is it?" she asked him.

"Half past ten," Mr. Wentworth answered.

"Goodness! It'll be Christmas Day tomorrow!" cried Nan. "We'll have to be sober if we plan to attend church tomorrow morning." She immediately faced the children. "And now it's off to bed with you."

Nan proceeded to push herself up from her seat when Felicity intervened.

"What? Lissie, I have to supervise," Nan protested.

"Nan, you still have little Lou in your arms," Felicity had to remind her younger sister. "It's…rather doubtful you'll be able to…"

"I'll make sure the children are in bed, Lissie," said Elizabeth.

"Are you sure?" Felicity asked her best friend.

"It's all right," said Elizabeth. "Don't worry about me."

"Thank you, Elizabeth," said Felicity. Somehow she felt relieved inside that Elizabeth would go so far as to relieve her best friend's sister of a task that she was not obligated to perform. Whenever Elizabeth did something for Felicity's sister, she did it for Felicity herself.

"I want to hear Father tell more stories of his war days!" Mercy started demanding.

"We'll see, Mercy," Felicity said to her eldest daughter.

The children were ushered upstairs by Elizabeth.

"Anne? Tom? Don't be late," Elizabeth called.

"Aye, Mother," said Anne.

Tom was in the midst of viewing his surroundings.

"Come on, Tom," Anne gently beckoned her friend.

Tom felt a mite peeved over Anne interrupting his seemingly deep thoughts. Without another word he followed Anne's lead.

"Is your Aunt Nan _always_ so prissy?" Anne asked him rather curiously.

"Well…usually," Tom answered her rather hesitantly. He did seem to like his aunt. "It's something my Mother never fails to remind me whenever I'm in her presence…"

The rest of the grownups were also heading out of the parlor.

"You'll be all right, Nan?" Felicity asked her younger sister.

Nan nodded her head as little Lou let out a soft cooing sound.

"Good night, Lissie," said Nan.

Felicity kissed her on the forehead. "Good night, Nan," she said to her softly.

Nan departed from the parlor room with little Lou in her arms. The only people left in the parlor room were Felicity and Ben.

"You'll be heading to bed, too?" Felicity asked her husband.

Ben turned around to face Felicity. "Hmm?" he asked in bewilderment moments before coming back to his senses. "Oh…of course," he answered.

Felicity crossed her arms in a rather casual manner. "I'm beginning to suspect that the children…Mercy included…will want to hear whatever stories you have related to the war," she mentioned. "Might you be up to that task?"

Ben simply stared into the flickering fire with some degree of uncertainty within his very self.

"I guess…" he answered rather hesitantly. "Well…I suppose the whole thing will be a mite easier to handle." After a pretty successful round, the next one, he thought to himself, would get to be a mite easier for him.

Felicity turned to face Ben, suspecting that this would normally not be something that Ben would say so freely, since he expressed hesitancy to tell his war stories before he began the storytelling in the first place. "You sure?" she asked him with some surprise in her voice.

Ben looked at Felicity, a small feeling of certainty reflected in his face. "Well…the one I just told them did have, no doubt, a happy ending," he answered. "But I'm not sure about the rest, though…"

"Maybe tomorrow you'll feel a little better than you did tonight," Felicity reassured him.

Felicity and Ben silently stared into the fireplace.

**THE END**

* * *

Whew! After all that research and writing, I literally feel spent…I mean, burned-out. I hope you all enjoyed the story of Ben's days in the Fifth Regiment.

Previously this work of fanfiction literature was rated K+, but due to some pretty gruesome violence in the story it had to be pushed to a T for Teen rating.

Thanks so much to "pansyphoenix" (now "felicityphoenix") for her wonderful, insightful assistance on the characters of Lissie and Ben!


End file.
